


Seasons of Change: Year 1

by MPRose



Series: Seasons of Change [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 19:18:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 43,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16125011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MPRose/pseuds/MPRose
Summary: It's just before Christmas in Harry's first year. Giving presents does not come naturally to a boy who has never received any. But sometimes, it only takes voicing a random thought to bring changes to one's life.This story is also posted on FanFiction.





	1. Chapter 1

It was such a small, random thought that Harry voiced one cold December morning, not knowing what changes it was going to bring.

"Do you know how to send Christmas presents from Hogwarts?" he asked his two best friends hesitantly. He had been reluctant to ask them, as they would be the main recipients, of course, but as always, they were the first people he could think to ask for help.

It was a Saturday morning in Harry's first year, early in December, and the three friends were walking back to their Common Room after breakfast. The question brought Harry's friends up short, and they looked at him quizzically.

"By owl, I'd guess," said Ron, without giving it much thought.

"No, that's not what I mean. How would I buy the presents in the first place?"

"Well..." began Hermione, but then she trailed off. She looked at Ron, and then they both shrugged.

"I guess you can't really, if you're staying at Hogwarts," said Ron.

Harry looked down and nodded.

"It doesn't matter, though, does it?" asked Ron a bit uncomfortably, who himself had already written home to ask is mother for presents for Harry. "Everyone knows you're staying here, so no one will expect you to get them anything." He made sure to include himself and Hermione with a vague hand wave.

The girl next to him, nodded energetically in agreement.

"Yeah..." said Harry. "It's just... This is the first time I've money of my own, and can actually give people presents. I just wish..." He trailed off.

Silence fell following his words.

"I know!" Ron said after a while. "We could ask some other students-"

"Don't be silly, Ron," interrupted Hermione. "You can't just randomly ask people such a thing. It makes them think of presents, and whether they're going to get any themselves this year. And if they're not, they'll only be reminded of that, and be disappointed..."

As Hermione was explaining this, they suddenly noticed Neville step up behind them. He blushed.

"Sorry, guys, I forgot the password again." He pointed at the portrait hole in front of them. "Could you help me out?"

"It's 'blizzard'," Hermione answered promptly, and then all three friends sent Neville speculative looks, wondering if he had overheard what they had been talking about.

"Er... ah..." He blushed even more. "I'm not sure, either," he answered their unvoiced question, confirming that he had heard at least part of their conversation. "The only one who's ever sent me presents is my Great Uncle Algie, and he usually sends money, because he says he never knows what to get me." Seeing Harry frown, he ducked his head.

"Well, if toads are his idea of a good present, that might not be so bad," joked Ron.

Neville blushed even more. "Trevor's not so bad, really."

"Yeah, you can play hide and seek when he gets lost. Scabbers, on the other hand..." Ron looked at the lump in his robe pocket, where his rat lay sleeping. "Pathetic."

Neville smiled, eager to be included. "Oh! I thought of something. A couple years back, Gran twisted her ankle, and couldn't go to Diagon Alley for Christmas shopping. So she had a Christmas catalogue delivered, and then ordered all her presents by owl post."

"Awesome!" Harry could not believe it was that simple. "So, how do you get this catalogue?"

At this, though, Neville drew a blank. "Sorry, I don't know."

Ron was quick to point out to Hermione that his idea of asking around had merit after all. She scrunched up her face, not liking to be outdone. One thing the boys had learned in the month they had been friends with her was that she always liked to know the right answers.

"Maybe we could ask a prefect," Hermione suggested the next morning, once they had reached the the Great Hall. She had to explain to the boys what she was talking about first, and Harry had to wonder whether she had been thinking about it the whole time.

"Yeah," agreed Ron. "Let's ask Percy. That's the sort of useless trivia he'd know."

When they saw the older Weasley boy walk into the Great Hall a few minutes later, Ron jumped up from his seat, and hurried over to reach him first. That was his brother, after all. No reason why Hermione should outdo him on this.

Percy was talking to one of the female Ravenclaw prefects when he saw his youngest brother rush over to him, his two constant companions of late not far behind.

"Excuse me, please. There seems to be some problem I'm supposed to deal with," he told his companion.

Ron did not wait for her to reply, and started bombarding Percy with his questions as soon as he reached him. It took the older Weasley boy a while to understand the confusing rambling of his younger brother, who was soon joined by two other voices, neither of which seemed to clarify things. The bushy-haired girl was constantly trying to shut the boys up and start from the beginning, but they were not letting her. Harry Potter, who seemed to be the centre of the problem somehow, was trying to apologise and dismiss the question altogether, and none of it was helping.

Flushed and confused, and by no means wanting to be embarrassed in front of his companion, Percy did his best to understand, and when he finally did, and realised he did not know the answer to their question, he did the only thing he knew to help: he turned towards Professor McGonagall, who was conveniently close by, about to join the other Professors at the High Table for breakfast.

"Professor," he asked, "would you have a moment?"

Harry, awfully embarrassed now about how far his question was taken, tried even more to interrupt, but once again, it was no use. Percy, with some help from Hermione, explained to McGonagall that Harry wanted to order a Christmas catalogue so he could buy Christmas presents from school.

The usually strict professor's eyes softened at hearing this. "Oh, Mr Potter, what a lovely idea. It's very simple, actually. You need to write to one of the post offices – the one in Hogsmeade should be the easiest, I think – and they'll send it to you. You can even pay by mail. If you fill in a subscription form, they can take the money directly from your vault."

"Professor, how does it work?" That was Hermione, asking the questions Harry wanted to know the answers to. "I mean, does the catalogue belong to a shop? Or can you only buy the items in the catalogue by mail? And what if we wanted to buy something from another shop-"

"No, no, Miss Granger. The catalogue lists items from many different shops – the most popular ones are all in there. It wouldn't be very convenient otherwise, would it? Most shops listed are from Diagon Alley, but there's a few others as well, a couple from Hogsmeade, even.

"They bring out several catalogues over the year, I think, though the Christmas one is probably the most popular. But if you wanted to, you could do all your shopping by owl post – over the summer, when you're back in the muggle world, for example."

They thanked their teacher before returning to their breakfast, Hermione all the while going over the intriguing new possibilities.

Harry could just imagine how an annual catalogue subscription from the magical world would go over with his relatives, so he was not much interested in that, but he resolved to send Hedwig to Hogsmeade for the Christmas catalogue immediately after breakfast.

It took a few days of writing back and forth, and filling in order forms, but less than a week later, just before the first major snowfall hit Hogwarts, Hedwig delivered the catalogue with the morning post during breakfast.

Harry refrained from opening the package in front of everyone, still remembering the reaction to his broom delivery earlier that year. He had planned to open it after retiring for the night, in the privacy of his dorm room. Presents were supposed to be a surprise, after all. It would not do to pick them out in front of an audience.

His friends had other ideas, however. They wanted to have a look as well, and persuaded Harry to open the package in the common room. Harry did not see the point in that. He wanted to pick out presents for his two best friends, after all, and he could hardly do that with the two of them present. At least, he could get an idea what they liked, he thought resignedly.

The catalogue itself was a rather thick volume with big, moving illustrations inside, they discovered with some awe.

"Oh, look, you can move them any way you like," said Hermione while jabbing one of the colourful illustrations with her wand. The image of a book that had drawn Hermione's attention really was moving as her wand movement directed.

"Try zooming in," said Harry, but then tried it himself. That worked too. "This book is really cool," he concluded.

Hermione nodded in agreement, while Ron seemed a little less enthusiastic, a little less impressed by another display of magic, which was not as unusual to him as it was to his friends.

Other people around them got interested as well, and came over to have a quick look, make some comments, or ask about it. Harry remembered to thank Neville, when the boy noticed the catalogue and smiled at him. Neville waved off the thanks embarrassedly, but clearly looked pleased.

They had a thorough look through the catalogue. Harry was impressed to discover items from a shop called Quality Quidditch Supplies and found himself tempted to do some shopping for himself as well.

There were many more interesting things to discover. All sorts of sweets were listed – some he had tried on the Hogwarts express, and some he had never even heard of. There were also items from a rather intriguing shop called Zonko's Joke Shop, which was apparently found in Hogsmeade. Hermione also found herself drawn to the lengthy list of books and stationery. All in all, the catalogue kept them entertained for quite some time.

"So, have you made a list yet?" asked Hermione as they were getting ready to leave.

"A list?"

"Of the people you want to give presents to."

Harry gave her a telling look. She blushed.

"I meant other than us," she mumbled, then went on in a pedantic tone to cover up her embarrassment. "You need to write everyone's names down in a list. Then you can write down ideas for presents as they come, and when you've bought their present, you can cross them out of your list."

That seemed rather a lot of effort, when Harry really only planned to buy presents for two people.

"Blimey, Hermione, how many people did you have in mind?" Ron asked the question Harry had been thinking about.

"Well, I don't know. But with all the friends he's got, and his relatives-"

"Wait a second. I don't have many friends. And I'm definitely not getting anything for my relatives."

Hermione looked at him like he had grown a second head.

"Hermione, what do you mean, he's got many friends – who are you talking about?" That was Ron, distracting Hermione from asking uncomfortable questions about his relatives, much to Harry's relief.

"Well, I don't know. But famous as he is, everyone seems to want to-"

"Those people don't count," interrupted Harry.

"Oh, I don't know," backtracked Hermione, "it's your list, isn't it? You should know who's on it and who isn't."

"Who's on your list, then?" asked Ron, less bothered than Harry about asking direct questions.

"Apart from you two," she almost swallowed the words, "there's my parents," she went on more evenly. "There's some other relatives, as well, but my parents take care of that." She scowled at the boys. "Oh, come on! You know I don't have any friends apart from you two."

"Er, well, same here," shrugged Harry. "So there's no need for big Christmas lists. No need to go overboard."

"I suppose, yes," agreed Hermione. "But even so – when you started talking about Christmas presents, I realised this is the first time I have people to give presents to. I mean, yes, I used to get something for my parents even before now, but usually it was something I had made myself. Now I can buy them something in the wizarding world. Oh, and my mum always gave me something to give my teachers-"

"You gave presents to your teachers?" Ron was appalled.

"Of course. Nothing big, just coffee or sweets – and cards, of course. Doesn't anyone do that at Hogwarts?"

"No. Well," Ron backtracked with a grimace, "the prefects do sometimes get something for the heads of their Houses."

"Oh." Hermione sounded disappointed.

Harry remembered his aunt buying presents for his and Dudley's teachers that his cousin got to give them, making sure that everyone saw Harry had no presents to give. Harry had hated hearing their gushing thanks to Dudley while they shot him uncomfortable looks.

He also remembered saving one of the greeting cards that Dudley had tried writing on but had to throw away because ha had misspelled the teacher's name on the first line. Harry had crossed out his cousin's writing, and had written his own thanks to his then favourite teacher.

The card had been a huge success – at least where the teacher was concerned. But then she had gone on and mentioned it to Harry's aunt. Suffice it to say, Harry had never done anything like that again.

"You know, Hermione, there's no reason why you shouldn't get a present for a professor, if you want," he told Hermione suddenly. "We grew up in the muggle world, and it's tradition there."

"You think?" Hermione perked up.

"Sure. Who did you have in mind?"

"I thought, maybe, Professor McGonagall. She was the one who came to my house and told my parents and me all about magic. And she's our Head of House-"

"And we asked her about ordering Christmas presents, and she actually knew what to do. Without her, I wouldn't be giving anyone any presents.

"I'm going to get Hagrid something, too," said Harry after a pause. "He was the one who introduced me to the magical world, like McGonagall did for you, Hermione. And he's my friend. We visit him every week."

"Good idea," agreed Hermione.

Ron only nodded, feeling left out.

"And I might get a little something for Neville, as well," Harry said quietly. "He doesn't seem to be receiving the best presents, does he? And I know what that's like." He rolled his eyes. "Plus, he was the one who told us about the catalogue."

Hermione beamed at him, while Ron looked a bit glum.

"So there you go. That's your list, then. Neville, Hagrid, your relatives-" She took a breath. "And us, I suppose," she finished softly.

"Forget my relatives," Harry told her more firmly than he intended to.

Hermione frowned. "That's a bit harsh, don't you think?"

"No, it's not. I don't like them, and they don't like me. It's bad enough that we're all stuck with each other. We tend to get along better the less contact I have with them."

"Even so, Harry, they're your family."

Harry chanced a quick look at her. Her frown had not lessened. Ron, who knew a little more about what his relatives were really like, was avoiding looking at either of them.

"Hermione, let it go. That's just not the way things are between us," Harry finally said with a sigh.

For a while, that was the end of that discussion.

Soon enough, however, Hermione began prodding Harry about his relatives, trying to find out more about how they were treating him. She did not ask any direct questions, but he could tell her theories were getting more outrageous each day.

Harry decided to set her mind at ease before things went out of hand. "I'll be sending my relatives a card for Christmas," he mentioned a few days later, when they were discussing presents again.

Actually, he would be sending them a note, telling them that he would be staying at school for the holidays, but he suspected his relatives would think his absence the best present he could get them.

"You are?" Hermione sounded pleasantly surprised. Yet, she still had to push the issue. "Will you be sending any presents with it?" she asked a little too casually.

"No," Harry said forcefully. He sighed. "Hermione, I don't get along with my relatives. Please accept that and let it go."

"Well, yes, I understand that," she began in a high-pitched voice, then broke off.

Harry wondered how any child of two loving parents could possibly understand, but did not say anything.

"But you live with them!" Hermione frowned. "So even if they don't like you, they still have to get you presents, don't they? I mean, who else will?"

Harry did not answer.

"What, they've never given you any presents?" Hermione seemed on the verge of tears.

Harry recalled used clothes and broken toys over the years. He was not sure they deserved to be called thus, but he could not stand the look in his friend's eyes.

"Well..." He shrugged non-committally. "Nothing I liked, at least." That was close enough to the truth, he decided.

"And they won't be surprised if they don't receive a present from you?"

"They won't be," said Harry with such conviction that Hermione finally believed him. "Anyway, not even my cousin gives presents to his parents. They certainly won't be expecting it from me."

"What about your cousin, then?"

"Er, what about him?"

"Are you going to send him something?" asked Hermione, exasperated at Harry's deliberate obtuseness.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Er, we fight a lot." The truth was, Dudley and his gang liked to bully Harry, but he did not want to come out and say that.

"Oh, nonsense, Harry. You can't just not give him a Christmas present because you two fight. A lot of siblings – and cousins – fight. But you haven't seen him in months! How about some sweets? That should be simple enough-"

"He's fat. He should be on a diet. Sweets won't do him any good."

"Oh, you're just being difficult-"

" No, I'm not. Last year, the school nurse sent a letter, saying he was overweight."

"Well... All right, then. Let's have a look through the catalogue-"

"That won't do either. He's scared of magic. Ever since Hagrid magicked him a pig's tail over the summer-"

"What? That doesn't sound very nice. Didn't Hagrid explain properly that it was supposed to be a joke? Or that it would be temporary? And anyway, I thought he didn't have a wand..."

"Well..." Harry did not want to dwell on the fact that it had not been temporary, and that Dudley had needed to have the tail removed surgically, but for the first time in his life, he felt almost sorry for his cousin. "Anyway, he won't like anything from the magical world, so that's that," he said, returning to the problem at hand.

Hermione frowned, but did not contradict him, and she did not bring up the Dursleys again (much to Harry's relief). They did have other things to think about after all. As the temperatures dropped, and fewer and fewer owls managed to make it through the snow unscathed, Harry was glad that he would not need to send Hedwig, that there were delivery owls to deliver the presents he had ordered.

Within the warmth of the common room, curled up snugly in a secluded corner, the three friends started discussing ideas for presents. Hermione seemed to think everyone – at least all the grown-ups – would be happy to receive books. The boys argued with her, and got her to change her mind about all but her parents – who, to be fair, would probably like books, if they were anything like their daughter.

As they started discussing Hagrid and McGonagall, both Harry and Hermione unsure what to get them, they noticed how Ron's mood kept changing. One moment he would be engaged in the discussion, making silly suggestions that Hermione kept shooting down, and the next moment he would turn sombre, and grow quiet.

Hermione was the first to catch on. "Ron, would you maybe like to help with Hagrid's present? I was thinking, Harry isn't the only one who's friends with him. We all visit him. So I'd like to help with the present myself," she said after Ron had fallen silent once again.

"Well – I-"

"Great idea, Hermione!" interrupted Harry, before Ron could give a coherent reply. "I've been thinking – I mean, McGonagall let me join the House team – and she may have bought me my broom as well – so I had this idea for her present-"

"I – I don't know-" interrupted Ron. "I mean..." He blushed.

"It's a present for a teacher, Ron. It's supposed to be something small," Harry told him, immediately catching on that money might be the problem.

"Yes, exactly. My teachers always said they received too many sweets, and what they really liked were letters and greeting cards with some honest well-wishes."

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Some of my teachers said the same thing."

"Okay," agreed Ron, "I'm in."

That left Neville. After having decided to get Hagrid and McGonagall a joint present, it seemed obvious to do the same for Neville, as well. He was Ron's dorm mate as well, after all, and he had befriended Hermione first.

This was how their tradition of giving joint presents was born, not that they were aware of it at that point.

There was one more surprise in store for Harry, though. Before leaving Hogwarts, Hermione had promised to do all their muggle shopping and send to them. The owl, carrying a parcel from her that arrived a couple days after she had left, Harry had expected. What had been surprising was the extra item it carried. It was a thin book, or booklet, accompanied by a short note:

_Harry,_

_This was the first book I bought after I found out I was a witch. It's a short introduction to the wizarding world, written for muggleborns. If you do decide to send your cousin a present after all, you could send it along. Maybe it'll help him understand our world better, and he'll stop being scared of magic._

_All the best,_

_Hermione_

That girl really knew how to be interfering, was Harry's first sentiment as he read her note. He did not give it much thought, just threw in the booklet with his other books, and left it there.

Some days later, however, when he and Ron were busy sending off all their presents, he had another look at it and reconsidered.

He had always been considered a freak by his family, and a few months ago he had discovered the reason for that was because he was a wizard. His aunt and uncle had known that, but his cousin had been as clueless as Harry himself. The only reason Dudley had called him a freak was because he was a bully and had gone along with his parents.

Harry might have felt a little sorry for him for the pig's tail, but for the most part, he thought Dudley deserved it, deserved to be shown that Harry was no freak, and that magic was wonderful and powerful – not something to look down on. And if it scared his cousin a little, receiving a magic-related article, so much the better.

Harry did not bother with an actual Christmas card for Dudley. He just wrote a short letter, tied it together with the booklet from Hermione, and sent it off with strict instructions to Hedwig not to be seen, and to deliver the parcel to Dudley, and Dudley alone. He did not need his crazy family going after his owl, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione had a very pleasant, if quiet, Christmas Eve. It was spent with her parents, at her home, which she had missed more than she had realised over the months she had been away.

Her parents had decided to forego visiting her grandparents, and having a big family celebration, so they could spend more time together.

"How you've grown!" was almost the first thing she had been told when she had arrived at the station. A dental exam had followed, partly in jest, after she had told them about all the different foods she had eaten at Hogwarts, especially the sweets.

"I'm glad they feed you well, at least," said Mum afterwards, once her parents had finally conceded that her teeth were as always in top condition, "I have heard some horror stories about food at boarding schools."

Her parents, for their part, had not changed at all. Not that Hermione had expected them to, but it was still such a comforting feeling to find everything was exactly as she remembered.

There was Dad, saying something obviously meant for teasing to Mum, a twinkle in his hazel eyes, so similar to his daughter's. They grinned at each other over Mum's head, which was no easy feat, her barely contained locks almost managing to obstruct their view. Mum shook her head in mock exasperation, sending escaped locks flying in all directions. "Oh, you," she said to Dad, the smile in her voice belying the chiding tone, before she turned back to Hermione, with another question for her about her life away at Hogwarts.

It was fun, being home again. And yet, perversely, Hermione caught herself missing her friends. Even during dinner on Christmas Eve, Hermione found herself thinking about Harry and Ron, and what they might be up to, back at Hogwarts.

"Have some more, dear," Mum's voice snapped her out of her thoughts, and Hermione was surprised to see the bowl of glazed carrots held in front of her nose.

"Uh, sure," she stammered, and helped herself, though she was not at all sure she really wanted any more carrots.

It was not that they were bad carrots. On the contrary. Her mother had put in a lot of effort into the dinner, and had made sure to include all her favourites. But it made her think of the dinner her friends were now most likely having, unfair though it must be to compare her mother's cooking to the festive dinners served at Hogwarts. She remembered the welcoming feast, and for a traitorous moment, wished to see what Hogwarts looked like at that moment.

Her parents exchanged glances over her head. Hermione had never been an especially sociable child. She had never really made friends at school or in the neighbourhood. Neither did she have siblings, or relatives close to her age. As a consequence, it had always been her parents she had interacted with the most, and they had all loved the time spent together.

They had had long discussions about every topic Hermione could follow. Her parents had delighted in their intelligent, precocious child, who was always trying to learn more, who never grew tired of asking questions, and arguing her beliefs. Hermione had always loved those moments, when her parents treated her like someone worth listening to – something children her age never seemed to do.

Recently, though, things had changed. The older Grangers had feared that after the revelation that their daughter was a witch. However, that had not been the cause. They had discovered that new world together. Even after Hermione had left for Hogwarts, things had remained the same. At least for a while. In the first few weeks, she had written excited letters about her lessons, and interesting titbits about magic and the wizarding world she had come to discover.

It had been some time in November that her parents had become aware of the change. Two names had started popping up in her letters more and more frequently. Both were boys in her year she had apparently managed to befriend, though she had been very vague about how that had come to be.

The letters had been one thing. But it was after her return home that Richard and Jean Granger really became aware of how much Hermione had changed. As enthusiastic as she was to discuss her lessons, compare them with muggle knowledge, and even include the two of them when doing her homework, there was this other part of her school experience, connected to those two boys, that she remained very vague about.

It was not that she did not talk about them. She did. They knew all sorts of details about the boys. One was the famous Harry Potter, who was excellent at quidditch, the wizarding sport, and though Hermione herself had never shown any interest in any sports, she had regaled them with tales of quidditch matches, quidditch rules, training, teams, brooms, and of course the Quidditch Cup at Hogwarts that Harry was trying to help win for Gryffindor.

She had mentioned very little about Harry's family, except that they were muggles like the Grangers themselves, which meant that Harry at least had no problems understanding Hermione's experiences prior to Hogwarts.

The other boy, Ron Weasley, did not even have that. He came from a long line of magical ancestors, and had very little understanding of the muggle world. They knew the names of all members of his large family, knew about his pet, even. They watched Hermione's attempts at learning chess after coming home, though it clearly was not her game – just so she could play with Ron, even though from her throwaway comments they had deduced that she tended to argue quite a bit with the boy.

It was all very confusing. They simply could not understand why their studious daughter had befriended two boys who seemed to have little interest in school work, or books and learning in general, and the more they asked her about them, the more they heard about them, the less they understood.

Meanwhile, they had to deal with the new-found knowledge that their company was no longer enough for Hermione, who clearly seemed to be missing her friends, and never seemed as enthusiastic as when she was talking about them. It was uncanny how much she acted her age when she did – something they had despaired to see in their daughter before. That alone should have been enough for them to welcome their daughter's new friendships. But the feeling that they might be overlooking something remained.

"So, Hermione, what do you think Hogwarts looks like right now?" asked Dad.

The girl looked up, unnerved that her father seemed to have guessed exactly what she had been thinking about. "Oh, I don't know. Not too different from how I left it, I guess. The trees were already decorated. I don't think they'll do that much more, with most students away. They'll be having dinner now as well, I guess."

"Do they do special dinners, then? You said the food's good, usually, but do they do something special?"

Hermione nodded. "We had a huge feast on our first evening there. I guess it'll be a bit like that."

"What about Hallowe'en? Did they do something special that time, as well?"

Hermione felt the blush creep up in her cheeks, as she nodded quickly. She had heard all about the feast the next morning from Harry and Ron, who had become her friends overnight, but she still felt like she was lying to her parents as she agreed, because she had missed the feast and so had no first-hand knowledge.

Somewhere in the recesses of her mind she knew she should feel a lot guiltier about keeping her wild adventures from her parents, but it seemed such an impossible act to tell them about those that she could now easily suppress that urge.

"So, how many of your friends stayed at school, then?" asked Mum.

"Both of them," replied a surprised Hermione. "Didn't I tell you?"

"You mentioned Harry and Ron would be staying," Mum said carefully, "but what about your other friends?"

Hermione shifted in her seat. "I don't really have any other friends," she muttered.

"What about the girls in your dorm?" asked Dad. "Lily and Padma, was it?"

His daughter's eyebrows shot up in confusion. "Lily? And-" Hermione's face cleared after a moment. "Oh! You mean Lavender and Parvati." She giggled. "Dad, Lily was Harry's mum, and Padma is Parvati's twin sister. She's in Ravenclaw, though."

"So what about them, then?" Dad would not be deterred. "Aren't you friends with them?"

"Not really." Hermione said matter-of-factly. "I mean, we do get along-" she added, seeing her parents' alarmed looks.

"You're not being bullied, are you?" asked Mum.

"No, Mum. They're just... Well, they're friends with each other, and they get along really well. They seem to like the same things, and they agree on a lot of things..."

"But not with you?"

"Not as much. Not really."

"And those boys – they are more like you?" Dad asked sceptically.

As always, their mention brought an involuntary smile to Hermione's face. "They don't mind arguing with me. We all like different things, and we argue – well, discuss – what we want to do, and then we usually end up doing everything – what they want to do, and what I want to do."

"Sounds like fun," said Mum with a sigh.

Hermione nodded and hummed in agreement. She looked a lot more animated, bouncing in her seat, eating a lot more enthusiastically, and in general seeming to be enjoying herself a lot more. Her parents exchanged another look.

"But still," Mum tried once again, "wouldn't you like to have more than just two friends? The girls there are all witches like you, aren't they? I'm sure you'll have some things in common. What about those twin girls, for example? The one in your House and the other in Ravenclaw – that's the House for studious people, isn't it? Maybe you could-"

But she never got to finish that sentence. For at that moment, two owls arrived knocking at their window, and Hermione jumped up from her seat with an excited squeal, and rushed over to open the window.

The owls delivered two packages, both of which she took from them with great care. Then she gave them a generous amount of owl treats that her parents kept in the house for the Hogwarts owls their daughter sent home.

Hermione pressed both packages to her chest and carried them over to put them under the tree.

It was such an odd sight, seeing Hermione acting her age, showing a childlike excitement at receiving presents. It was a bittersweet feeling, knowing it was not due to them. And yet, had they not always wished this for her? To have such good friends? Was it selfish to feel excluded, to feel as if they were losing their only daughter to two, by all accounts, immature boys, whom they had never even met?

It was still well and truly dark when Jean woke the next morning. She heard some odd noises from downstairs, and went to investigate. Not entirely unexpectedly, she found her daughter in the living room, eating from a bowl of cereal, and watching some children's show on the telly, but her whole attention seemed to be diverted towards the Christmas tree in the opposite corner.

Jean did not know how long she had stood there, contemplating her daughter, when Richard stepped up behind her. She looked up and met his eyes, which were filled with amusement, and Jean was not sure if she had imagined the trace of sadness underneath.

Hermione must have heard something – or maybe her magic alerted her that she was being observed – and she turned around, looking sheepish and excited.

"Go on, open your presents," Richard told her.

That was all the prompting she needed, and a moment later, all three of them were sitting around the tree, sorting through the brightly wrapped packages.

Hermione went straight for her friends' presents, tearing the paper with little finesse, and her excitement was so infectious that even her parents could not wait to see what the owls had delivered. The first package, from Harry Potter, contained a book and a number of sweets in colourful wrappings. The frog Hermione unwrapped tried to jump away, to her parents' astonishment, before she caught it mid-jump, and started munching on it, without any worry about what the sugar might do to her teeth.

She moved on to Ron's present right away, which contained a jumper in a dark teal colour with a golden 'H' stitched on the front, and some home-made fudge. She pulled on the jumper, and tried the fudge as well, before offering it to her parents, who declined. Then she opened both of the letters that had come with the boys' presents.

"The jumper's from Ron's mum. She knitted it for me herself, can you believe it?"

Hermione had a goofy smile on her face while she was reading the letter, and Richard had to remind himself that the boy who had written it was only eleven years old.

They moved on to other presents eventually. A lot of books were exchanged – something that was very common for the Grangers. Hermione seemed happy enough about everything she received – books, of course, both fiction and non-fiction, clothes, some educational games, even a book from the wizarding world her parents had bought months beforehand, when shopping for her school supplies, so they would have it ready to give her for Christmas – but still she kept coming back to the boys' letters and presents.

With a sigh, Richard picked up the book Harry had sent. 'Fantastic beasts and where to find them', it read on the cover. A book was a good guess for a present for his daughter, he had to admit. Why this one, though, he had no idea. Then again, it had come from an eleven year old boy. It was probably one of the few books he could conceive of reading.

Richard leafed through it, and as expected, it was exactly what it said on the cover. That such things should really exist, he thought to himself, and he hoped – as he did about so many things he had heard of in the wizarding world – that his daughter would never encounter them.

He was about to put it back down again, when he saw the inscription in spidery handwriting on the front page:

_To Hermione,_

_Looks like we might need to read this in the future!_

_Check out the section about three-headed dogs. Do they look familiar?_

_From Harry_

Richard suspected he was better off not knowing, but he could not help himself. He leafed to the corresponding entry in the book.

"Extremely rare beasts... indigenous to Greece... shoulder height of six to seven feet... known for their ferocious nature..."

It was only during the ensuing quiet, faced with Jean's surprised, and Hermione's frighteningly knowing, startled look, that he realised he had read aloud.

"Would you please tell me why your friend thinks a three-headed-dog should look familiar to you?" he asked his daughter in such a calm voice, he barely recognised it as his own.

Her parents were looking at her expectantly, waiting for the answer. For one wild moment, Hermione wanted to blurt out the truth. She was a Gryffindor, and hiding was not the first response her mind came up with.

"It's – Um, it's nothing," she managed after a pause.

Dad raised his eyebrows sceptically, and Hermione knew he would not let it go easily.

Suddenly, she was frantic, trying to come up with an explanation. "It's – we, uh, we learned about them in class – in Defence against the Dark Arts."

She realised as she spoke that her explanation had holes in it. Why would Harry have needed to buy the book for her if it was about something she had already learned in class?

"It was not part of our proper lessons," she tried again, aware that she might be rambling, but unable to stop. "Our professor – he's a very nervous sort of fellow. I heard he spent all of last year travelling, to gain first-hand experience, and there are rumours that something happened to him – that he had a run-in with some dangerous creature."

"With a three-headed dog?" asked Mum.

"A vampire, I think," Hermione corrected, unwilling to lie unless she absolutely had to. "But he keeps mentioning all sorts of dangerous creatures that we aren't supposed to deal with for some years yet," she added quickly.

"What for?"

"To warn us, I guess. Or because he's scared of them himself." That part was most likely true, she supposed. "But he won't tell us about them properly. So I guess Harry thought I might want to look them up," she finished weakly, all the while fuming at Harry for getting her in that situation.

"Hermione," Mum began hesitantly, "you are doing all right, aren't you?"

"Those boys aren't getting you into any trouble, are they?" asked Dad.

"No! No. They're the best friends I could wish for."

"That's not what we asked, dear," said Mum. "I mean, we can't know what goes on at your school unless you tell us. And if you get in some sort of trouble-"

"No, Mum. I'm fine-"

"Hermione, you know, if you did have problems, we could think of something-" began Mum.

"Though our options may be limited, what with Hogwarts being the only magical school in the UK," muttered Dad.

"But if she wanted to leave, I'm sure we could do something-" Mum replied directly to his comment.

"What, take her out of Hogwarts?" asked her surprised husband.

"Well, yes. If she's asked to deal with such dangerous creatures, and who knows what else. They said magical education was compulsory, but I'm sure that's not an actual law."

"Yes, it is!" said a panicked Hermione, who was unable to understand how the discussion had deteriorated to that point. She had not even told them anything.

"Oh, Hermione, don't worry. No one can make you do what you don't want to. If you want to leave, we'll think of something, you'll see," Mum tried to comfort her, misunderstanding the reason for her panic.

"It's only magical education that's compulsory," said Dad, "not Hogwarts. There are other schools-"

"Not in the UK," argued his daughter. "You said it yourself-"

"No, but I'm sure there's at least one in every country. And who knows, maybe they don't teach about three-headed dogs-"

"Of course!" Mum agreed at once. "We could try Ireland, or maybe France. Hermione, you learned quite a bit of French when we went there last year over summer. Maybe-"

"No!" shouted Hermione. "I'm not leaving! Hogwarts is where I belong. For the first time, I belong somewhere-"

Her parents reeled back, hearing that. How could she be saying such a thing?

"You don't think you belong with us?" Mum did not try very hard to keep the hurt from her voice.

"I – Well, I – Well, yes – I just-" Hermione broke off her stammering, and silence fell between the family.

"It's not the same thing, though, is it?" asked Dad after a while.

"No, it's not."

"Hermione..." Mum did not know what to say to that.

"Mum, I didn't mean it like that. I love being here. I love you both. But I also love my – my school. I have friends there – real friends, not just people I hang out with. And, yes, there are dangers in the magical world, but I'm a witch, and I'll be a witch no matter what school I'll go to.

"I'm also a Gryffindor. I told you what that means, didn't I? I'm not scared of the world, magical or otherwise. I'll learn well, so if I ever have to deal with things like that, I'll be prepared."

Her parents agreed reluctantly, their momentary panic at the unknown dangers fading slowly, and Hermione relaxed, again safe in the knowledge that soon she would be going back to Hogwarts.

The words of the Sorting Hat came back to her, spoken to her as she had argued with it over where to place her. She had not had a real preference between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, but she had challenged the Hat to place her exactly where she belonged.

She had been a little put out by how quickly Ravenclaw had been dismissed. The Hat had explained then, told her that while she might learn like a Ravenclaw, she would never be satisfied with just knowing something; that she would always need to find out for herself; that understanding the world would never be enough for her; that she would always feel the need to change it. Hopefully for the better, Hermione added to herself.

What she did know for a fact was that learning was no longer her highest priority, hard pressed she would have to be to admit it, though. There was friendship, and bravery, and wild adventures, all for the sake of doing the right thing. She had to admit to herself that the Sorting Hat had been right all along – she wanted to become more like Harry and Ron, and care about others' problems and try to help them, the way her friends had saved her.

And she would not let anything stand in her way, not even her parents' worries – even if she had to keep some secrets from them. She did not want to, but who knew, if they found out about the things she got up to, they might really take her out of Hogwarts, and where would that leave her?


	3. Chapter 3

Dudley had a perfectly ordinary Christmas. He was back home from Smeltings, after the longest separation from his parents he had ever experienced. The elder Dursleys, as expected, had gone out of their way to welcome him back.

He had been informed upon arrival that his cousin had opted to remain at his school for freaks. Since then, Harry's name had not been mentioned, even though this was the first time Dudley could remember that the other boy was absent from their home.

They had all alluded to it, of course. His parents had made several comments about being among themselves, being just the three of them, and so on. Dudley agreed that was all very nice. Yet, it felt strange, knowing that Harry was not stuck in the cupboard – away from their eyes, and yet present – but instead spending his holidays away at a secret school for wizards and witches.

Even after months of knowing about it, it boggled Dudley's mind that magic was real, and that his weird, scrawny, bespectacled cousin, of all people, had it.

Dudley tried to put all thoughts about Harry and magic out of his mind. It was not difficult at all. There was something particularly non-magical about his parents, and his Aunt Marge, who had arrived a couple days before Christmas, and would remain with them until the new year.

Dudley was playing his favourite alien invasion computer game when his mother called from downstairs that dinner had been served. He sighed, and got up somewhat reluctantly, unsure whether he really wanted to leave the game for his parents' company. Soon enough, though, the anticipation of the festive dinner became overwhelming, and he headed downstairs.

Aunt Marge met Dudley at the staircase, leaning heavily on the banister. As soon as he reached her, her hand landed heavily on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. Dudley visibly sagged as she took a step, and put more of her weight on him.

"A bit shrunk all around, are we?" she wheezed. "Aren't they feeding you properly at school?"

"You'd think they were," he grunted back. "They keep telling me I'm gaining weight."

Even with the ten-pound-note she slipped into his hand once they reached the ground floor, Dudley could not help but t hink fondly of all the times his cousin had had to help Aunt Marge instead of him. This was the first visit from her he could remember when Harry was not present, and it made him realise that he mostly liked his aunt around when he could watch her abuse his cousin.

Petunia, Dudley's mum, was flitting around the dining room, making some last-minute alterations to what already looked like a very richly filled, very orderly dinner table. She herself, had put on her favourite pearls, and on the whole, there was not a hair out of place. She directed them all to their seats.

"No, no. You sit right here, Duddykins, next to me."

Dudley did as he was told. A moment later, his mother had to lightly slap his hand away when he tried to start eating right away.

"What a funny boy you are, pretending you don't have table manners," Mum said with a laugh.

Dudley barely refrained himself from telling her he was not trying to be funny, and that he wanted to eat now. But though his mouth watered at seeing all the fancy dishes, he again did as he was told. His mother shot him a surprised look, but then went back to ingratiation herself with her sister-in-law.

Dudley did not miss the look, and knew very well what had caused it. The time away at school had changed him, and even he himself had noticed it. He was not the richest kid at Smeltings any more, he no longer had Harry around to copy homework from, and even without all that, he was under his teachers' care at school, who were a lot less of his outbursts than his parents.

"Let him eat, Petunia, he's a growing boy." Dad came to Dudley's defence, while loading his own plate.

"He needs to eat well, so he'll turn into a proper sized man, like his father," agreed Aunt Marge, who was eager to start eating herself, rather than listen to the newest gossip from the neighbourhood narrated by Petunia.

It did not take long with the combined efforts of father, son, and aunt to clear most of the table.

"Excellent nosh, Petunia, one of your best." Aunt Marge sighed with satisfaction after she had finished off her third helping of the turkey. She chased it down with a freshly refilled glass of wine.

Dudley looked up in surprise hearing that. The food was fine, and it looked perfect, certainly. But to him, at least, it tasted blander than usual. He shrugged and went back to eating. No one could accuse Dudley of being a picky eater. If it had enough fat or sugar, he would like it all right. Even Smeltings' less than satisfactory meals always found space in his stomach.

"That's right, Petunia," said Dad a little louder than strictly necessary, his face flushed from the wine he had already imbibed. "Just how I like it. No shirking the fat, or – or any of that healthy stuff. And no trying to change the flavour – never knowing what you'll end up with."

"Just so, Vernon," tittered Mum. "No experiments." Her face turned sour at the last word, the way it only did when mentioning anything related to her nephew.

Dudley suddenly caught up to what they were talking about. Watching the stove, and otherwise helping his mother in the kitchen, was part of Harry's chores. Experimenting with their food, was he? Dudley's indignation joined that of his parents', ignoring the traitorous part of his mind that told him this explained why the dinner tasted bland.

"Must be the lack of stress," said Aunt Marge. "You can take your time to do it right when you don't have that hooligan-in-the-making to watch over."

Dudley did not miss how his parents' expressions grew strained at the merest mention of their nephew.

Aunt Marge seemed to have missed that, though. "Where is that boy, anyway?"

"I told you, Marge. He's staying at his school," said Dad, eager to get away from the topic.

"Yes, you did. But what sort of kid wants to stay at school? There's something odd about that boy, Vernon, I've always said so-"

"He's not staying voluntarily, Marge," Dad said loudly.

His wife, who had been pushing food around on her plate, pretending to eat, halted at that, but did not look up.

"How come?" Aunt Marge immediately looked interested.

"He's... He's-" Dad's moustache twitched. "We had to send him to St Brutus' Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys. He left us no choice."

Dudley almost laughed out loud, hearing that.

"is that so?" Aunt Marge seemed pleased at hearing that. "Well done, Vernon, Petunia. He'll get just what he needs there, by the sound of it – a firm hand. I don't believe this namby-pamby, wishy-washy nonsense about not using force on people who deserve it."

"Yes, yes. They know how to treat boys like him there," said Dad.

"And they keep him over the holidays. Easter holidays as well?"

"Of course. He'll be there until summer."

"Excellent," said Aunt Marge with obvious pleasure. "He'll be out of your hair as much as possible, and who knows, maybe they'll manage to force some sense into him at that school."

Dudley grinned vindictively, liking the thought of his cousin stuck at St Brutus while he got to enjoy the comforts of home. Until he remembered that Harry was actually at Hogwarts, and staying there voluntarily.

It was a sobering thought. Once that had occurred to him, listening to his parents tell lies about Harry became difficult to listen to. Not long after that, he became fidgety, and his mother allowed him to leave the table and go upstairs.

It was all his cousin's fault, he thought to himself, as he climbed the stairs. It was because he was such a freak that his parents were forced to come up with excuses for him. Except, the thing that made Harry a freak was apparently his magic.

Magic.

All those weird things that used to happen to his cousin – from making it impossible to cut his hair to turning their teacher's wig blue – had been caused by magic. Dudley had never given it much thought how Harry had done those things before. In fact, he had been convinced that none of them were actually his cousin's fault. But he had known that his parents would believe him – or anyone else – that whatever had happened had been Harry's fault.

It was an uncomfortable realisation that his parents had been right – at least some of the time. Harry was not such a wimp after all. He could do more than just give smart retorts and run away. His magic had protected him more than once.

Dudley shivered as he remembered his last birthday. Had Harry really set a boa constrictor on him? He was suddenly very glad that Harry had opted to remain at school. He was aware, though, that summer would eventually come, and Harry would return, together with a year's worth of magical learning. Dudley was not looking forward to that reunion.

What would Harry do, once he came back, with all that knowledge, and his lifelong memories of how he had been treated by the Dursleys? His parents had known all about Harry's magic from the beginning– not that they had told either of them – and they did not seem worried about having him back in the house eventually. And Dudley still trusted his parents to protect him, even though on occasion they had proved ineffectual against people with magic.

The real issue was that Dudley knew, in Harry's place, very little would stop him to get his revenge. If he had magic-

Now, what a thought that was. If Dudley had magic. His parents may call it freakishness all they wanted. Dudley knew – though he felt he would never be able to admit it to anyone – least of all his parents – that he still wanted it. He wanted to be magical just like Harry. He was sure he would have made a much better wizard – wise and powerful, and always getting his way.

He understood, though, without ever having asked directly, that one either had it, or not. And if one of those stupid letters were not sent to him, all the begging in the world would not get him magic.

He did not even try, of course. His parents, he was well aware, had always tried to give him everything he wanted, especially if it was something Harry wanted, as well. Nothing of the sort had happened. Instead, his parents had been scared as soon as they had seen the letters, but even with all the crazy things his dad had tried to get away from them, none of it had prevented the wizards from taking Harry.

That was the state of things, then. He wanted magic. Harry had it. And nothing could change that. Telling himself that if it was something Harry had, he would not like it anyway, did not help in the slightest. He wanted to know so much what magic was like, what it could do, what it was like to have it, to study it.

There was no way he could find out, though, short of asking Harry-

Dudley was passing his cousin's new bedroom – his old room – when thinking that, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a noise from inside the room. He heard it again a moment later – a soft hooting, barely audible through the closed door and vaguely familiar – and it almost made him run back to his parents in panic.

He listened for the sound again, but all remained quiet. It was probably nothing, he told himself. He had most likely imagined it. That was what he got for thinking about Harry of all people. There was no need to run downstairs and make his parents come up to check out the room. It would make him look like a coward – especially if there was nothing. There was also Aunt Marge, he remembered, who did not know about magic. She really would think him a coward, and Dudley was uncomfortably aware that his parents would not explain things to her, not even to spare Dudley the embarrassment.

There was no other way. He would have to check out the room himself. There was no way he would get any sleep that night otherwise.

It took him a few tries, but finally his legs obeyed him and carried him to the door of Harry's room. Finding the courage to twist the handle and step inside took even longer. But he finally did-

And almost screamed when he saw the snowy owl on Harry's bed. He choked off his scream when he heard the owl hoot again. He recognised it. Her. She belonged to his cousin. But why was she here? How had she turned up in Dudley's house? Had Harry returned in secret and was now hiding in his room, biding his time?

Dudley had the frantic urge to either rush through the room and search it for his cousin's hiding place, or run away from there as quickly as possible, and hide in his own room.

The owl did not let him, though. It flew towards him, circled his head once, then went to sit on the head rail of the bed again. Just behind the package on top of Harry's bed, to be precise.

Dudley's mind finally caught up with what he was seeing. At least in part. Had he given it enough thought, he would have concluded that most likely a package from Harry would contain something humiliating for him at best, or even outright harmful. But he had ripped open the packaging and was reading the note by the time that occurred to him.

He read:

_Dudley,_

_By now you've probably killed all the aliens in Mega Mutilation 2, eaten enough to feed a small family for a week, and thrown a tantrum – which got you whatever you wanted, I'm sure, if Aunt Marge is there as usual. Aunt Petunia wouldn't want her precious Diddykins look bad in front of a guest, would she?_

Dudley almost stopped reading at that point, noticing that it was meant to insult him, even though all of it was true. No one had ever said such things to him before, and he was not entirely sure what to think of it.

_But if there's any hope for you at all, you should have noticed that something is missing in all that – something of the wonder of Christmas._

_And I don't think you'll be able to find it in Aunt Petunia's tinsel-free living room; or Aunt Marge's hugs – however much money she might pay you for them; or Uncle Vernon's approval of everything you do – be it overeating, bullying, throwing tantrums, or neglecting your school work._

_I've just discovered it for the first time myself at Hogwarts. It's to be found in playing outside in the snow that is so filled with laughter that you forget all about the cold, and in warming back up with hot chocolate in front of a fireplace while playing games without ever keeping track who won. It's found in thinking about what presents to give, rather than receive, for a change, and hoping that they'll make your friends happy. Most of all, it's found in people one cares for, and who care in return. There is some sort of magic in that – the best sort of magic._

_Hogwarts is rather full of magic, as you can imagine. It's everywhere, especially at this time. It's hard to describe how beautiful the castle looks right now. I've just come up after the best dinner I've ever eaten, only to find the dorms had also been decorated while we were all gone. I'm so filled with magic, I felt I had to share – especially with those who are completely without it._

_So, as 'tis the season for giving, I'm sending you a book about magic. I know. Two of your least favourite things – books and magic – in one. But maybe you can get over yourself for once._

_Happy Christmas,_

_Harry._

It was a book about magic. It came with an insulting letter from Harry. His parents would have a fit if they even knew it was in their house.

It would answer the questions he had, the ones he had been thinking about all evening.

Dudley reached out towards the book. His hand slowed mid-way, as he heard a noise, then realised it was just loud laughter from his father. His family was still at the dinner table, and it did not seem as if they would leave any time soon.

Dudley drew the book towards himself and began to read. In the end, he was not one to deny himself his momentary wants.

It was only when he heard the sound of loud conversation coming up the stairs that he realised how long he had stayed there. Quickly, he slipped out of Harry's room, and into his own, slipping under his covers after just taking his shoes off. As he knew from long nights of playing computer games past his bed time, his mother looked in on him, to tuck him in and kiss his cheek, before going to sleep herself.

He did not have to force himself to stay awake. His mind was so buzzing with everything he had read that sleep would not have come even if he had wanted it to. As soon as he heard the double snoring from his parents' room and the guest room, he slipped out of bed, and back into Harry's room, armed with his new, and as of yet unbroken, torch, to continue reading. There was not much left, as he discovered , as he turned the last page some time later.

The moving illustrations still held him entranced as he looked at them, but on the whole, the book had left him with more questions than answers. It really was a very slim book, and though that had been the most reading Dudley had ever done in all his life, the information he had acquired was not enough to satisfy his curiosity. Only one question had been answered sufficiently. He now knew for sure that he wanted to find out more about magic, scary though it could be.

Harry's owl hooted softly, jerking Dudley out of his thoughts. She did it again, louder this time.

"Shh," said Dudley insistently, then felt foolish for shushing an owl. She seemed to have understood, though, and only hooted very softly the third time.

Was she trying to tell him something?

As Dudley looked at her, she held out her leg. Before he knew how to respond, she flew in a circle over his head again, and landed on the windowsill, then pulled up the latch and pushed to open the window. She really was an extraordinarily smart owl. Or perhaps there was some subtle magic involved-

"Wait!" said Dudley before the owl could fly away.

He hurried to his room and back, and managed to send a short letter with her. He wondered at himself, as he watched the owl fly off. Had that been a stupid thing to do? A dangerous thing to do? Would it make things better or worse come summer when he and Harry would be back under one roof?

Dudley finally decided he was too sleepy to think about that, but he made sure to hide his new book in Harry's room before going to sleep – not that his parents ever went in there, but he wanted to be sure nothing would happen to it.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry and Ron were having a magical Christmas at Hogwarts. The boys woke up early on Christmas Day to each find a pile of presents in front of their beds. Ron's was made up of a significantly larger number of parcels but Harry was astonished at the number he had received. He had been hoping for, even expecting, a couple of them, instead of the half dozen presents waiting for him.

"Merry Christmas," said Ron, as he got up.

"You, too," said Harry. "Look at all the presents I received!"

"What did you expect, turnips?"

"I just mean, there's too many."

"Too many presents?" exclaimed Ron. "You can't have too many of those. And, anyway, it doesn't seem that many, to be honest."

"No, I just mean, who are they from?"

"I think you need to open them to find out."

Harry shot Ron an annoyed look, but then shrugged. "All right. Do you want to open them together?"

"Sure."

They pushed both piles closer together, and sat down on the floor, each picking the first parcel from their side. Harry received a wooden flute from Hagrid, which sounded a bit like an owl. It came with a short note.

"Hagrid says thank-you for the teabags," he told Ron after reading it.

Ron waved it off. "It wasn't my idea, was it? Trust Hermione to come up with something like that."

"Well, they are a muggle thing. But, yeah. I didn't think of it, either. It's easy to forget about muggle things in the magical world." Harry frowned. "Even if sometimes they're more convenient."

"Like what?" asked a disbelieving Ron.

"Like pen and paper," grumbled Harry. "Makes writing so much easier."

"Nah. That's just your scrawl, mate. Hermione's writing is just fine."

Harry scowled. "That's because she practices more. But she finds quills annoying, too."

Ron shrugged and opened another of his presents, this one containing a couple of new quills, of all things.

"Speaking of..." he snorted. "Let me guess... Yep, this one's from Percy."

After opening the note from his relatives and giving Ron the fifty pence coin, Harry opened the lumpy parcel with – as Ron guessed correctly – presents from Mrs Weasley. He pulled out the jumper and put it on, and then saw the dark-covered book underneath, next to the home-made fudge.

"That one was my idea," said Ron. "I asked her to send it for you. But I guess she thought you should get some real presents as well."

"A book, Ron? Whatever made you think of that?" asked Harry teasingly, and grinned widely.

Ron turned pink. "It's not that sort of book. It's-"

"Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy," Harry read from the cover.

"Yeah. It's written by prejudiced, crazy gits, so don't believe anything they write. But I asked Mum, and she said the Potters are mentioned in it. You did say your relatives didn't like magic, and didn't tell you about your parents. So I thought... And Hermione said-" He broke off, and turned red.

Harry might have been bothered by the fact that his friends apparently talked about him behind his back, but right then he was too busy looking for the entry under his name.

"Ron... This is... Thank you, Ron, I-" He stopped talking as soon as he found the entry under 'Potter'. He did not bother with the text at first, and went directly to the family tree, which took up a double page. There he was, his dad, at the very bottom of the tree, with his birthday written underneath.

"It's an old edition," said Ron. "Mum and Dad got it as a wedding present. You might have been in it, if it were a newer edition. But they'd probably have 'forgotten' to add your mum's name, what with her being a muggleborn." He grew even redder, and ducked his head.

"Ron, if this was a wedding present-"

"No, I didn't mean it like that. We're blood traitors, remember?" Ron said rather proudly. "It's been stuck in the attic ever since my parents got it. I don't think any of us even had a look through it. But I thought you might find it useful."

"Thank you," Harry said again, without looking up. Then he cleared his throat, to cover all traces of emotion. "Charlus Potter, and Dorea Potter, nee Black. Those were my grandparents. My dad was an only child – no surprise there – and so was my granddad, but my grandmother..." He searched the appropriate entry without looking up, and missed the look on Ron's face. "Look at that! My grandmother seems to have some relatives. Quite a few, actually. There's her brother-"

"Er, Harry." Ron decided it would be better to interrupt him at that point. "Sorry to burst your bubble, but those are the Blacks."

Harry looked up with a quizzical look, to find Ron staring at the book with distaste.

"Well, yes," he said carefully. "My grandmother was named-"

"Harry-" Ron interrupted him, then halted. "I forget sometimes how many things you don't know," he mumbled to himself. "The Blacks are one of the oldest and darkest families in Britain, Harry. Slytherins, all of them. Even if you're – sort of – related to them, I don't think they're the sort of people you want to get to know better."

"I'm... I'm related to a dark family? But-"

"It doesn't mean anything," Ron said quickly. "All pureblood families are related. There's just not that many of us around. I think I'm related to the Blacks as well. And I'm sure not all of them were evil. Your dad was fighting against you-know-who, wasn't he. So his mum can't have been evil, right?"

Harry did not look entirely reassured, and closed the book, to find Ron looking at him contritely.

"Never mind the Blacks, Ron," he told his friend. "This was still a great present. I now know what my grandparents were called." He smiled encouragingly.

Ron smiled back hesitantly, and they went back to opening presents. A couple more presents from Ron's family, and then it was Harry's turn again. The next parcel he opened held another surprise for him.

"Look at that. Dudley's written back," he said.

"Don't tell me you actually listened to Hermione and sent that book."

Harry grimaced. "I sort of did. What," he added at Ron's look. "I wanted to find out how he'd react."

"Right." Ron went back to unpacking his presents, but finally curiosity won out. "Well? What did he write?"

"Let me see..." Harry skimmed over the letter for a second time. "Insane spelling, check. Calling me freak in every other sentence, check. Complaining about my writing skills – the cheek of him! Oh, look at that, doesn't complain about receiving a present. Oh-ho-ho, but apparently the book doesn't meet with his high standards – doesn't answer most of his questions, can you believe it? Oh, and then he goes on about how obviously easy our school has to be compared to his that we have such simple books. Ha! If he only knew! And, anyway, he can't have forgotten already that he used to copy all my homework-"

"Sounds jealous, if you ask me," sniggered Ron.

Harry thought that over. "He does, doesn't he? Also, he sounds like he wants to know more about magic – for all that he claims it's freaky. Git."

"Git," Ron also said at the same time, and both boys laughed at the coincidence.

Harry frowned and looked at the letter again. He had missed the comment when reading the first time, but on second reading, he picked up the envelope again, and turned it over to watch a simple ballpoint pen drop out of it.

"Huh," he said, surprised.

"What's that?"

"It's a pen. Dudley sent it-"

"What, like a Christmas present?"

Harry snorted. "No, he sent it because he could barely read my writing, he claims."

Curious, Ron asked to use it, and tried it on a piece of parchment. It was not very impressive.

"It works much better on paper," Harry told him.

Losing his interest at that point, Ron picked up another parcel to open, and Harry held his breath as he saw what it was. Ron noticed his reaction.

"This one's from you, then?" he asked casually.

Harry nodded.

Ron unpacked a carefully folded poster, and a scarf and mittens with the Chudley Cannons emblem on them. He unfolded the poster, to display seven quidditch players on their brooms, flying all over the quidditch pitch shown in the background.

"Thanks, Harry," Ron said enthusiastically. "This must be their newest poster. Hadn't even seen it yet." With that, he got up and hung it up next to his bed.

There were two very similar-looking presents, wrapped in identical paper, and the boys picked them up simultaneously.

"Guess we know who sent these. Want to bet they're books?" joked Ron.

Harry was sure to lose the bet, from the feel of it. "I think there might be something else inside as well," he said.

"All right, let's see."

As it turned out, they were both right. Hermione had sent them each a book and some chocolate frogs. Ron's was a muggle book about chess strategies.

"They know chess in the muggle world?" asked a surprised Ron.

Harry just rolled his eyes. His present was 'Curses and Counter-Curses' by Vindictus Viridian. He had recognised the title in the catalogue, and told his friends how Hagrid had stopped him from buying it.

"Look at that," he said. "First, Hermione makes me send Dudley a present, and then she buys me the book I wanted in order to hex him."

Ron shook his head fondly. "I guess she thinks a book's a good idea, no matter what."

At that point, Ron still had a couple of presents left to open – which was not surprising, considering the size of his family – and Harry also still had one unopened parcel in front of him. After Ron had finished opening his presents, and both boys had marveled at Harry's invisibility cloak, the other Weasley boys came up to their dorm and they all went down for breakfast.

That night, after a day of celebration, Harry found the Mirror of Erised. As he looked into it, and realised what he was seeing, his heart began to beat louder, recognising the family he could not remember ever seeing before.

His parents would have been easy to identify from the descriptions he had heard of them, even if they had not been standing right behind him, their hands on his shoulders. He wondered if he would be able to match anyone else to the names from the book Ron had given him. The thought had barely occurred to Harry that the people in the background rearranged themselves, half of them standing behind his mum, and the other half behind his dad.

His aunt and uncle were completely missing, but Harry spotted Dudley's face by the edge of the mirror, looking in towards the mirror space from round the corner, as scared as he had been when they had met Hagrid.

On the other side of the mirror, he saw a couple behind his dad, both black-haired and smiling at him, and realised those must be Charlus and Dorea. His grandparents. He identified his muggle grandparents as well, and then went back to staring at his mum and dad, trying to memorise every last detail about them.

He still noticed the very handsome man who alternately kept looking at Harry and at his dad, also wearing a smile, though there seemed to be something unbearably sad about him.

~HP~

The day the other students were to return to Hogwarts, Harry and Ron went down to the edge of the lake, where the flying carriages were to land, to meet Hermione as soon as she arrived.

Harry was wearing his new Weasley jumper, and Ron had opted to wear the scarf and mittens Harry had given him. It still felt like the holidays, even though classes were to begin the next day.

Both boys were smiling as they watched Hermione emerge from the carriage, her own Weasley jumper visible under her coat, Neville following right behind her. Harry's smile dimmed somewhat when she looked at him, her expression somewhere between angry and annoyed. He opened his mouth, but she stepped closer to him, and whispered, "Later."

The four Gryffindors walked up to the castle, Neville thanking the boys awkwardly for the sweets they had sent him.

As soon as they were among themselves, Hermione turned to Harry. "I want to have a word with you," she said with no trace of the anger from before, but entirely serious. She led them to the most secluded corner she could find in the common room.

"What is it?" Harry was puzzled.

"Harry... Look, I was really happy about your present. I've read the book at least half a dozen times, and then I compared it to our defence textbook – Anyway, I really enjoyed it. But, Harry, what were you thinking, writing that inscription-"

"I didn't think you'd feel so strongly about it. I know, you love books, and would never scribble in them, but-"

"No! That's not what I mean. An inscription is a great idea – except where you mentioned three headed dogs!"

Harry looked comically confused, but when he looked to Ron for support, he was surprised to see dawning comprehension on the other boy's face.

"What," he said, looking from one to the other.

"Did your parents see it?" asked a sympathetic Ron.

"They did. Next thing I knew, they were talking about shipping me off to France-"

"What! Why would you tell them-"

"I didn't! Of course I didn't. I lied to them, told them we had learned about them in class – And I did convince them. They don't know any more about my rule-breaking now than they did before-"

"Then what-" began Harry, but he did not get very far.

"Just their mention was enough!" Hermione almost shouted. "Harry you grew up with muggles, as well," she went on more calmly. "You must know what it's like for my parents, hearing about powerful and dangerous things – things outside of their world that they don't know how to deal with, and knowing that I have to."

Harry frowned, unable to fully understand what she was trying to explain to him, and not sure how to respond, even though she had stopped talking and was looking at him expectantly.

"Come on, Harry," she said exasperatedly. "You can't tell me you've told your relatives about all our adventures."

"Of course I haven't," said Harry. "But that's the thing. My relatives don't care about me. They always try to do whatever will annoy me the most. So why would I tell them? But your parents, Hermione. I mean, they love you. They care about you, about what you want. I get not telling them about our investigations. They might tell you it's too dangerous. But things that have already happened? It's nothing to do with magic. I mean, don't you want them to know what goes on in your life-"

"I agree it's nothing to do with magic," said Ron. "My mum would drag me back home by the ear if she had any idea about that dog, or the troll, or even the smallest hint of a suspicion about what we're investigating. Harry-" he hesitated, trying to phrase his thoughts properly. "You have some very strange ideas about what parents are like, mate. And I get that. Really. But please don't tell anyone in my family about the trouble we get into."

"Same here," said Hermione. "Our adventures should stay between us."

Silence followed her words, which rang in all their minds after they had been spoken. A strange sense of togetherness came between them, as if they were the only relevant people in the world.

"Alright," said Harry. "Unless we all decide to share some information, everything we do will stay between us." He spoke solemnly, to show that what he said was a promise.

"I agree," said Ron. "No one else needs to know."

They exchanged silent glances, and broke out in conspiratorial giggles. It made them feel giddy, the secret pact between them. They felt connected in the way they had after the troll attack – a unified force against their attackers.

Harry felt a strange sort of happiness. His friends were keeping their mutual secrets – even from their own families – the people they loved most – so that they belonged only to the three of them. Harry felt a little guilty for being so possessive of them, but the guilt, and the worry in the back of his mind that they might be way over their heads, so separate from tempering adult influence, were eclipsed by the joy and feeling of belonging at finally having someone of his own.

~HP~

That evening, the three friends were sitting in a quiet corner in the library. Harry and Ron were finishing the homework they should have done over the break, and Hermione was pretending to read, ignoring their pleas for help.

"How about this, Hermione," said a desperate Ron. "We play a game of chess. If I win, you let me copy four inches –three," he amended at her outraged look. "And if you win... Well, we can think of something. I could even take notes in class tomorrow," he suggested with a grimace, "and share them with you, so you won't have to. Come on, don't you want to find out if I learned anything from that book you gave me?"

Hermione shot him a withering look. "No. You can't just copy a portion of my essay at random. You need to actually understand what you're talking about. And I've seen the sorts of notes you take."

With that, she turned back to her book, though Harry had to wonder how she could possibly read with her nose so high up in the air. A few minutes later, she frowned and set the book down, then answered Ron's hopeful look with another withering one of her own.

"When you mentioned my present, I just remembered something I wanted to tell you," she began.

Both boys were eager for an interruption, and immediately set their quills down.

"Yeah?"

"What is it?"

Hermione looked around, to make sure they were not being overheard. "I met Neville and his grandmother on Platform 9¾ this morning. We were a bit early, because I was worried I might be late-" She scowled as the boys rolled their eyes. "And plenty of people were already there, by the way, including Neville and his grandmother. He was talking to Ernie MacMillan and a few other Hufflepuffs, but he waved me over when he saw me. Did you know he's related to Ernie?"

"He isn't," said Ron. "Well, not really. I think they might be distant cousins by marriage, or something-"

"They were talking about a mutual relative – Great Uncle Ernest-"

"Yeah, I don't think he's actually related to Neville. I might be off a little, but I think he's something like Neville's Great Uncle Algie's wife's brother. Or something."

Hermione drew back. "Really? And you know that?"

Ron shrugged. "As I was telling Harry the other day, there really aren't that many of us around."

"Well, Neville just wanted to thank me for the present – a naïve and foolish thing to do, as it turned out. The others wanted to know what he was talking about and as soon as your name came up, Harry," Hermione grimaced and shot her friend a sympathetic look, "everyone was impressed – even the parents – in a not entirely flattering way. They just couldn't see why you'd want to befriend Neville. His grandmother sort of tried to defend him, but mostly she kept telling him that as his parents' son he should be a bit more – I don't know – a bit less the way he is, I guess.

"And then Ernie said he'd already known that from his great uncle Ernest who had been with the Longbottoms for Christmas dinner, and that the whole party had also been surprised when the owl had arrived.

"Oh, and apparently you keep to yourself, Harry. That seems to be the general opinion about you. The grown-ups wanted to know how I had befriended you, and if it was because I'm muggleborn, and you were raised by muggles-"

Both Harry and Hermione decided by unspoken agreement not to look at Ron at that point, who, unsurprisingly, had turned quite red by then.

"Anyway, I came up with some answers that didn't involve any trolls, and even Neville had enough sense not to mention three headed dogs-" She shot Harry a pointed look at that.

"All right, I said it won't happen again," mumbled Harry.

"So that's what I wanted to tell you. I thought sending Neville a present would be a nice idea, but now I think we should be apologising for it, not having him thank us-"

"Don't be silly, Hermione," said Ron. "You think what they said to Neville was odd or rude or even insulting, but it wasn't really. It's just how everyone talks about Harry. Neither of you seem to realise just how-"

"Has anyone ever said those kinds of things to you?" Hermione asked him shrewdly.

Ron blushed. "It hasn't been so bad yet. Haven't gone home yet, have I? I still have the big Weasley family get-together to look forward to. Nothing like being put through the ringer by Aunt Muriel," he joked.

Harry ducked his head, not knowing what to say. He thought a change of topic might be called for at that point.

"So," said Hermione on an exhale. "Any other things that didn't go as planned? What about the other presents we sent? Were they-"

"Those went well," Harry reassured her. "McGonagall actually thanked us during the Christmas dinner the next day – said she was impressed by our use of transfiguration for the packaging – and Snape looked murderous when she said that-"

"Also, Percy said he was impressed, and the twins wouldn't let me live it down for a week," complained Ron.

"Hagrid also said thank-you," Harry went on. "And the last time we went down to his hut, the tea was all gone, so he must have liked it all right."

"That's good, then," said Hermione, but she did not seem entirely reassured. "Harry..." she began after some hesitation. "That book I sent – that might have been, maybe, out of line."

Harry could not believe his ears. Was Hermione admitting to having been wrong about something for once?

"I thought about it again during the train journey today," she went on, "and I realised I really don't know what your family's like. I mean, you've mentioned some really – odd – things about them – and I know you don't want to talk about them," she added hastily, seeing his expression. "So I won't ask. I just – I guess I wanted to say sorry-"

Both boys sat forward, surprised that she had actually said the word.

"-for just sending it to you," she went on as if she had not noticed their reaction. "And you can keep it, of course-"

"Hermione, that actually wasn't such a horrible idea after all, I think. I mean, I sent it to him-"

"You did?"

"Yeah. He actually sent a reply back with Hedwig, and she came back in one piece – which, I guess, is the most important thing."

"So how did he like it?"

"Now you sound a bit too optimistic. He complained about it, said it didn't explain things-"

"What, he had already read it?"

Harry started at that.

"Told you he's jealous," said Ron. "He read the book right away, and still wants to know more about magic-"

"Of course," agreed Hermione. "It must be hard, knowing magic is real, but not being part of the magical world."

Harry opened his mouth to deny that, but then he thought better of it. That was a thought he would need to mull over, he decided.


	5. Chapter 5

The new term soon picked up, with increased school work, and also increased quidditch practice for Harry. The only difference to the previous term was the exchange of letters with Dudley, something that had not deteriorated as Harry had suspected. Instead, the letters between them were getting longer and more frequent.

After the start of term, Harry had written to let his cousin know he was willing to answer any questions Dudley might have, and Hermione had been so supportive, she had even lent her _Hogwarts: A History,_ with strict instructions that Dudley could only keep it for a week, and that it better be returned undamaged.

From the few hints he let drop in his letters, Harry had surmised that his muggle cousin had some difficulties keeping the magical correspondence under wraps at Smeltings, but he seemed willing to go through a lot of trouble – buying owl treats, waking up at unreasonable hours to avoid being seen, and so on – to keep up the correspondence.

At least Harry's letters were written with pen on paper now – and would not look too suspicious if Dudley was ever seen holding them. He had sent a notebook after Harry had written that pens did not write too well on parchment. Then he had wanted to know why witches and wizards did not use paper – the first question about his world Harry did not have an immediate answer to. Hermione had become curious, which of course meant she had to find the answer, and so she had asked McGonagall.

The answer, it turned out, was that the existing charms – for spelling correction, translation, anti-cheating, and so on – were designed for parchments, and would need to be modified for paper. Hermione then had had a lengthy discussion with an intrigued Percy about whether such a thing could be done.

The whole thing had sounded awfully dull to Harry, especially as it seemed that it would take quite a bit of work and was not something that school students would be able to do. Percy, he suspected, was the only one who could find that discussion entertaining, but it almost seemed worth it, seeing the usually pompous Weasley deeming Ron and his friends worth his time, even if his lengthy explanations even managed to bore Hermione eventually.

Then the second Hogsmeade weekend arrived, and for all that Wood's training schedule had started to border on obsessive, he finally relented and allowed the older members of the team to go to Hogsmeade. Harry asked Fred and George to buy a bunch of sweets for him – something they did in exchange for testing some of their newly-acquired Zonko's merchandise on him. They slipped in a handful of Zonko's specialty sweets with the bunch he had ordered. Harry ended up eating one of the Hiccough Sweets in McGonagall's class, and changing his hair colour with each loud hiccough. The professor finally got so exasperated that Harry was dismissed from class - not an altogether tragic result. Harry even thought he might have spotted a nostalgic, fond smile on the usually strict professor's lips, but decided he must have been wrong.

In his next letter to his cousin, Harry sent a bar of Honeyduke's – "Ron says it's the best chocolate in the world" – curious to know whether the muggle boy's love for food – especially sweets – would overcome any remaining fear of magic. The chocolate went down surprisingly well, and in his reply Dudley sent some Lion bars.

 _...The magic chocolate was good, I'll give you that. But tell your wizard freind hes wrong. Its not the best in the world. Theres plenty of exelent chocolate in the muggle world..._ wrote Dudley, and the spelling was nowhere as bad as he was capable of producing.

Ron was willing to admit there might be some truth to Dudley's words after trying the chocolate bars. But always willing to accept a challenge, he suggested they send Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans next, as he was sure there was nothing similar in the muggle world. Harry agreed, and even found out some interesting facts about the sweet to write Dudley. It turned out, even Ron had not known that Bertie Bott had created them by accident, as no one had attempted to reduce food in size before, rather than try to expand or multiply it. Bertie Bott's were not magical as such, but magic was necessary to produce them – which, in some sense, made them the first magical food Dudley would receive.

Harry was curious how long Dudley's fascination with magic would last, but he was aware that for the most part finding answers to the muggle boy's questions and discovering new bits of information about the magical world to write about served to distract him from a lack of progress in his search for Flamel.

The trio had by then almost given up on finding out who he was. Harry could not remember where he had read the name before, and even though they still searched the library books every day, the only useful information they had found had been of the sort to amuse Dudley. Nothing on Flamel, however.

Then, another bit of bad news was added to that. Following a particularly wet and muddy training session, Wood informed the quidditch team that Snape would be refereeing the next match.

It was when Harry had hurried back to the common room to inform his friends – whose most helpful suggestion was that he should break his leg – that they finally had a break in their investigation. Neville came in, still suffering from Malfoy's jinx, and Harry offered him his last chocolate frog as consolation after Hermione had ended the spell. It was from that chocolate frog's Famous Wizard Card that they found out Flamel's identity, and finally figured out what was hidden in the castle: the Philosopher's Stone.

That evening, after finishing the Cadbury's chocolate bar Dudley had sent, Harry began another lengthy letter to his cousin, and for the first time he actually told him about some of the strange things that had been going on at Hogwarts.

The next morning, in Defence Against the Dark Arts, while copying down different ways of treating werewolf bites, Harry and Ron were still discussing what they would do with a Philosopher's Stone if they had one. It was when Ron said he would buy his own quidditch team that Harry remembered about Snape and the coming match.

"I'm going to play," he told Ron and Hermione. "If I don't, all the Slytherins will think I'm just too scared to face Snape. I'll show them... it'll really wipe the smiles off their faces if we win."

"Just as long as we're not wiping you off the field," said Hermione.

Harry frowned. "You know," he began, "Maybe we can do something."

"Yes?" Ron asked hopefully.

"Well, if we make sure whoever was casting the counter-curse last time will be there tomorrow-"

"Counter-curse?" Hermione asked louder than strictly necessary, enough for Quirrel to pause in his stuttering and halt the chalk on the blackboard, which was at moment occupied with completing a gruesome drawing of a werewolf bite.

"Counter-curse? Whatever makes you think someone was casting a counter-curse?" asked Hermione more quietly a little later, once Quirrel had gone back to his monotonous stuttering.

"That book you sent me, Hermione. _Curses and Counter-Curses_. The way my broom would jerk instead of going one way or another – that's exactly what a counter-curse is supposed to look like. Without someone countering it, a curse should have thrown me off sooner. I think."

"Well, did it say how a counter-curse is cast?" asked Hermione. "I mean, how are we supposed to guess-"

"The same as a curse. You need eye-contact, and everything."

"But that's what I was looking for when you were being cursed," said Hermione. "That's how I found Snape. I'm sure I'd have noticed if someone else was doing the same."

"She's right," said Ron. "I took the binoculars from her after she left to deal with Snape. Everyone was looking at you, but no one was muttering and staring as obsessively as Snape."

The three teens exchanged frustrated looks, willing each other to think of a solution.

"Could it have been non-verbal?" suggested Hermione.

"But that book said you're not supposed to do that. Counter-curses are more difficult than curses, and non-verbal ones wouldn't be strong enough."

"I know," Hermione almost whined out of frustration. "But if you're sure someone was casting a counter-curse-"

"Quirrel," Ron said suddenly.

Harry and Hermione immediately looked towards their teacher, and noticed he had stopped talking again. Harry suddenly felt a sharp pain in his scar, and could not suppress a half-muffled exclamation. Quirrel turned around.

"Did someone s-say s-s-something?" he asked.

Hermione turned concerned eyes towards Harry, but his pain had passed, and he shook his head.

When no one replied, Quirrel turned back to his lesson. The three teens stopped talking after that, trying to follow what they were being taught instead. Harry supposed it was because of the harsh topic they had just been discussing, and the mood had stayed with him, but something about the way Quirrel kept talking about subduing werewolves suddenly struck him as cruel. He shook off the feeling and went back to taking notes.

"How embarrassing," moaned Hermione after class. "We were caught chatting during a lesson. I didn't even notice Quirrel had heard us until you said so, Ron."

"What?" Ron frowned, and then he caught on. "No, that's not – I meant it was Quirrel. He was the one casting the counter-curse."

"Really? Are you sure?" Hermione asked eagerly.

Ron nodded slowly. "I think so, yeah. You ran into him, remember? When you were-"

"Oh! On my way to Snape-"

"Yes. It was – odd. That's why I remembered. Everyone kept looking at Harry, but Quirrel was twisted sideways, and seemed distracted. His face was turned away from me, so I'm not sure if he was muttering, but he definitely had his wand out."

"But if he wasn't looking at Harry..."

"I know! Maybe he was jinxing Snape directly," suggested Harry.

"I guess."

"Maybe." His friends agreed hesitantly.

They decided to find out if their suspicion was correct, and if so, if Quirrel would be watching the next quidditch match. Even though he did not seem the strongest defender one could wish for, he was their Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, and if his counter-curses could stop Snape, Harry wanted him in the stands again during his next match.

That afternoon, Harry tried to find an opportunity to talk to Quirrel, but it proved more tricky than he had anticipated. He only saw the professor at dinner, and he left before his students could casually walk up to him, trying hard not to be obvious about it. Instead, Snape kept running into them wherever they went – something Harry had noticed the potions professor doing more than once in recent weeks. They were no more successful during breakfast the next morning, which was unfortunate since they did not have any classes with Quirrel that day.

Disappointed, Harry conceded defeat for the moment and opened Dudley's letter instead, which had arrived with the owl post during breakfast, and let his friends read over his shoulder, before they had to face the day's lessons.

 _Hi, Harry,_ wrote Dudley.

_What's the matter with your profesors, are they all crazy? Just saying. Mine are crazy, to, but at least they only want me to work harder. Me and Piers copied the same homework from Artie – he's the nerd in our dorm – the other day, and Artie changed his later, but me and Piers were in trouble. We have to explane to him to change ours to next time. And I mean explane, I'm not going to beat him up or anything, cos I'm not a bully, so stop saying that._

_So what about that Snape guy? Are you sure hes really trying to steal some magic thing, or maybe he hates you cos your awful in his class? Are you awful in his class? You're lessons sound pretty dificult, so I wouldnt be surprised._

_It would be pretty cool if youre teacher were a thief, tho. Maybe you could catch him, that would be even cooler. Don't know if you can, tho. You could be wrong about the whole thing. I'm always wrong when I try to guess in a whodunit. Its never who I suspect._

_Good luck!_

_Dudley_

Ignoring Hermione's attempts to correct the spelling, Harry stuffed the letter in his bag, and tried not to think about that last comment. But something kept nagging at his subconscious.

The trio tried again to talk to Quirrel again after classes, but did not get a chance until the afternoon, right before the match. They saw him leave the great hall with a group of teachers who looked like they were already heading over to the quidditch pitch. Harry exchanged hopeful looks with his friends, but then they noticed Quirrel separate from the group. They followed him.

As soon as they were away from other people, he slowed down, allowing the students to catch up with him. Harry noticed his friends were as surprised as he was. Quirrel had not seemed aware that they were following him.

"Professor, are you going to the quidditch match today?" Harry went straight to the point.

"The match?" Quirrel sounded surprised. "Trying to c-collect more f-fans before the m-match, Mr P-P-Potter?" Despite the wide, disarming smile, Harry balked at the question.

"Er, no," he answered a lot more carefully. "I just think it might be an interesting match – like last time," he hinted. "Or even more interesting. Everyone wants to be there, it seems. Professor Snape's even refereeing. And you might..." He broke off, unwilling to accuse Snape outright. If Ron was right about Quirrel casting the counter-curse, that should be enough, anyway, he thought.

Quirrel made a show of looking around himself, as if to see if anyone was near them. When he briefly turned his back to them, Harry again felt his scar hurt. But it was gone before he had time to even raise his hand to touch it. Quirrel smiled again, and this time it seemed entirely genuine.

"Mr P-Potter, I'm s-sure there will be none of the _excitement_ from last time." He gave Harry a knowing look, but then followed it up with, "You're m-much b-b-better at handling your broom by now, I'm su-sure-"

Harry wanted to to say his broom handling skills had been just fine last time as well, that it had been someone else – most likely Snape – jinxing his broom, but Quirrel went on before he could protest.

"A-and whatever problem there may be, all th-the other p-p-professors will be there, not just Professor Snape. Just in case. Even P-Professor Dumb-Dumbledore. Don't worry. And don't be l-late," he said, and the three friends realised they had been dismissed.

Dumbledore was indeed there, much to Harry's relief, which, he suspected, explained Snape's dark mood. He did not think too much of Quirrel's absence after that, and instead concentrated on winning the game. He did so in record time, and without any jinxes thrown at his broom.

Then Harry spotted Snape as he was returning his broom to the shed, and followed to overhear his exchange with Quirrel. Confused and worried, he collected his two friends who were still celebrating his quidditch victory and Draco's black eye, courtesy of Ron, and took them to an empty room so they would not be overheard. He then proceeded to fill them in on what he had heard.

"So Professor Snape really is trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone, and Fluffy and Quirrel's protection are the only things in this way," Hermione summed it up.

"It'll be gone by next Tuesday," Ron made the gloomy prediction entirely too cheerfully.

Harry groaned with frustration. "But that doesn't make any sense!" There had been something about Quirrel's behaviour that afternoon before the match. It had made Harry feel uncomfortable. He had begun questioning Quirrel, and the more he thought about it, the more he suspected something about the professor's behaviour did not add up.

"What do you mean?" Hermione frowned.

"Why did Snape think Quirrel might help him?"

"You mean the bit about where his loyalties lie?" asked Ron. "That probably didn't mean anything. Snape was trying to scare him, that's all."

"But then why wasn't he at the quidditch pitch today?" asked Hermione.

"Exactly!" said Harry. "That's what's been bothering me. Quirrel said he had no idea what Snape was talking about, but he did miss the match, and Snape seemed to think he was trying to get past Fluffy at that time."

"But he can't be helping Snape!" exclaimed Hermione. "He cursed Snape to save you, Harry-"

"So we're agreed he did that? Even though he wouldn't come out and say it-"

Both his friends nodded.

"Yes. He sounded a bit – odd – today, but he seemed to know exactly what we were talking about," said Hermione. "It must have been him. And then, today, he refused to tell Snape how to get past his protection of the stone."

"Maybe he's just pretending to be helping Snape," suggested Ron. "Because he's scared of him, or wants to know what the old bat's up to-"

"Ron!" Hermione admonished him.

"But he didn't seem to be," replied Harry. "He tried his best to pretend he had no idea what Snape was talking about. And yet, he stayed in the castle, and if Snape has talked to him before – and it sounded as if he had – then he must have realised Snape would assume he had gone to the third-floor corridor."

"Maybe-" began Hermione, but then fell silent, trying to formulate a credible argument.

"Maybe your cousin's right, Harry, and we got it all wrong," tittered Ron. "Maybe it's Quirrel who's trying to steal the stone, and Snape who's warning him against it." His laughter turned into nervous chuckles at the bewildered, speechless faces of his friends. "That was just a joke," he said.

A couple forced laughs joined his. "Yeah, of course," his friends agreed, but then fell silent again.

"That's nonsense!" Harry finally said forcefully, after a few aborted attempts at speech from his friends.

"It is. Except it makes an awful lot of sense," said Hermione. "And I can't think of a good reason why it can't be true."

"Well, let's see. Let's see." Harry took on the challenge. "Snape-" He wanted to say, "hates me," but instead decided to go with, "Snape tried to get past Fluffy at Halloween."

"Yes, that was our main argument against him-" said Hermione.

"Other than him being a git and hating Harry," supplied Ron helpfully.

"But it was Quirrel who told everyone about the troll," Hermione went on as if she had not been interrupted. "Maybe Snape wanted to check up on it-"

"Quirrel passed out, Hermione. He wouldn't have been much of a threat-"

"And Snape went to Filch to have his wound treated. That struck me as odd before, and now that I think about it, if he was trying to steal the stone, he'd hardly go around telling everyone about it-"

"Not everyone, just Filch. Who knows, maybe they're working together. It would fit, wouldn't it? They're both gits-" Harry tried to defend his argument, even though his conviction was slipping.

"The first time we got lost, Harry. Quirrel just happened to be passing by the third-floor corridor when he rescued us from Filch."

"Well, Filch was there, too!"

"Well, all right," said Ron. "To be honest, I'd much rather it were Snape, too. He's a right git, and if we can prove he's a criminal, too, we'll be rid of him once and for all."

But that was not how it worked, and they all knew it, too.

"That day, when there was a break-in at Gringotts, I met Quirrel in the Leaky Cauldron," admitted Harry. "But that's all coincidence! Snape hates me," he said it after all. "It makes a lot more sense that he'd try to kill me. Quirrel doesn't hate me-"

"Well, not to say your life isn't important, Harry, but maybe that attack on you had nothing to do with the stone," said Hermione sensibly.

Harry wanted to argue. It seemed too much of a coincidence, especially with the stone almost getting stolen exactly on the day he had returned to the magical world. But when he thought back, the first hint that Snape hated him had been his scar hurting. And now the same had happened around Quirrel as well. Twice. Come to think of it, that first time Snape had looked at him from behind Quirrel.

Harry shook his head to get rid of the strange thoughts. "All right. Fine. Maybe it's Quirrel who's after the stone, and Snape who's trying to stop him, while at the same time trying to kill me, and Quirrel trying to protect me. If you really think that sounds any more reasonable-"

"I didn't say that!" argued Hermione. "I just think we don't know anything for sure yet."

"We need to investigate more," said Ron, and did not sound sad about it at all.

His friends nodded resolutely.


	6. Chapter 6

Dudley was not having a good day. It had started early that morning, when Hedwig had delivered one of Harry's letters. Piers had woken up unexpectedly, and almost seen her rapping on the window.

Thankfully, Hedwig had been smart enough to hide from him, and instead, Dudley had had to explain why he was standing next to the open window before it was properly morning even. Piers had looked at him suspiciously as Dudley had stammered something about fresh air, before going to the bathroom.

As if that scare had not been enough, the owl had decided to fly past the window during his maths class. Of course everyone had noticed her, and their teacher had to go on and draw even more attention to her, calling it an 'unusual sighting', and saying how odd it was to see a snowy owl in England. How he even knew that, Dudley had no idea. But it certainly was inconvenient, and he decided to sneak out of school as soon as classes were over and find her, before there were any more 'unusual sightings'.

Harry's letter had contained more details about the magical object hidden at Hogwarts, and his cousin's suspicions that one of the teachers was trying to steal it. What had been a vague and curious tale in the last letter, when Dudley had been sure that Harry was mostly exaggerating, now seemed like a serious issue. A potentially dangerous, serious issue, and there were not one, but two teachers who might be involved.

It had given Dudley an uncomfortable feeling, reading that. He had reassured himself that he was not starting to worry about his cousin, of all people, but he had finally admitted to himself that the letter bothered him a little after all.

Piers had found him outside shortly after, and had been even more suspicious of his behaviour. It had not helped that Dudley had quickly tucked Harry's letter away. Piers had only seen him quickly pull his arm back and look guilty, but that had been more than enough.

However, all of that would have blown over, had they not come across Arthur – Artie – on their way back to their dorm, eagerly talking to one of their teachers. As soon as the boys were among themselves, Piers started with the insults, calling Artie a suck-up and nerd, and asking him what he was so happy for, talking to a teacher.

Dudley found it rather amusing to see the scrawny boy twitch, and try to mumble some answers. But when Piers grabbed for his notes, and then pushed Artie away when the boy tried to take them back, Dudley stepped in to stop his friend.

This was not the first time he had found himself doing that of late. Dudley was not sure what compelled him to help Artie, but something about seeing the scrawny boy being pushed around did not sit well with him. Piers refused to be distracted from what he was doing, however, as he had allowed Dudley to do the previous times.

"Come on, Dud, I'm having a conversation with Artie here."

"You had the same _conversation_ with him the day before yesterday," Dudley reminded him.

"And you interrupted us back then, too. But we really ought to finish our chat, huh, Artie?"

"I-I-" the boy stammered, and pushed his glasses up his nose.

The gesture struck Dudley as familiar. He was reminded of another scrawny, bespectacled boy who tended to do that when his ill-fitting glasses slid down his nose; who also had had to endure similar _conversations_ with Dudley and Piers and their other friends back in Surrey; and who was now studying magic in the wizarding world where he was famous, and chasing criminal teachers in his spare time.

"Piers, let it go," Dudley said tiredly, wishing that line of thought to leave him. "Come on, let's see if the computer room is free. We haven't played Mega Mutilation 2 in-"

"I don't care about that stupid game," Piers shot back. "What is with you, are you going soft?"

Dudley flexed his fists. "Say that again."

Piers took a half-step back. "Well, what is it, then? I just want to find out what important business Artie here needed to discuss with a teacher. Before the holidays, you'd have had a chat with him long before I'd even thought of it-"

"I don't think you need to bully him for that-" Dudley said impatiently, thoughtlessly.

He did not finish the thought. Silence followed as soon as the words were out. This was the first time Dudley had referred to what they were doing as bullying, and as soon as he had spoken, he felt a line had been crossed.

"Look, Piers. Let's just do something else," Dudley attempted to save the situation. "If you don't want to play Mega Mutilation, we could go and spy on the older boys. We still haven't found their new smoking spot, and it's been over two months since the old one was-"

"Forget it. I've no time for your lame ideas." With that, Piers walked out of the room, past Dudley, who half-heartedly tried to turn him around, but the other boy brushed past him and was gone.

The remaining two boys stared at each other. Artie could not hold Dudley's gaze for more than a moment. He looked down and began to fidget. Dudley looked away. His oldest friend had just walked away from him, and he still was not sure what he had made all the fuss about. He shot another glance at Artie, and then slowly started walking towards the door himself.

"You dropped your letter."

Dudley stopped in his tracks at the softly spoken words, and turned around. Artie was picking up Harry's letter from the floor, and flinched away as soon as the bigger boy took a step towards him.

Dudley could no longer see what about Artie had reminded him of Harry. True, both boys were skinny and wore glasses, but that was where all similarities ended. Artie looked plain, nerdy, and was almost as blond as Dudley himself. There was none of the energy and coordination that made Harry such a difficult target to catch. Beyond the physical, the differences were even more obvious. Artie had none of Harry's cheek or wit, but instead spoke slowly, softly, and mostly when he was spoken to. Except in class. And he was easy to frighten.

"Give me that!" Dudley took the letter from the other boy's hand none too gently, the fear of discovery suddenly turning all his jumbled emotions to anger towards Artie.

"I-I didn't read a word."

"You better not have!" said Dudley, tucking the letter away in his pocket. "Can't a bloke keep his letters from his family private," he added defensively.

Artie choked off a retort and glanced sideways.

"What!" Dudley demanded to hear it.

"N-nothing."

"Spit. It. Out."

The intimidating tone worked this time. "It's pretty obvious that letter's not from your parents, isn't it?" Artie asked meekly, trying to make himself smaller.

Dudley fought down panic as silence fell after those words. "Of course it's from my parents. Who else would it be from?" he said after what he felt had been a noticeable pause.

Artie did not answer.

"How is it obvious?" asked Dudley, unable to deal with the silence.

"W-well, the paper's different. It's just plain lined paper from a notebook, or something. Not like the fancy paper your mum uses. And even your dad writes on blank sheets, doesn't he? And the handwriting doesn't look like it's from a grown-up." Artie stopped for a moment, then went on. "And I know you don't have any siblings. You and Piers know each other well, and you mention his sister once in a while, but you've never mentioned-"

"Shut up!" Dudley had heard enough. He had been so careful, and now it seemed some things had been fairly obvious despite that.

The boys stared at each other in silence, assessing the other.

"I'm not going to say anything," offered Artie.

"I – It's no big deal! They're from my cousin." Dudley gritted his teeth at Artie's facial expression. It was clear he was not accepting the explanation, even though he was trying to pretend he was.

"My parents don't like him, that's why..." Dudley tried to explain.

"They don't get along with his parents?"

"His parents are dead."

"Oh. So they dislike the people who are raising him? Who does he live with-"

"Stop asking stupid questions!" Dudley finally reached the end of his patience. Only after hearing himself speak the words, did it occur to him that he sounded remarkably like his parents, giving the standard response to any and all of Harry's questions.

Chastised, Artie laid off, and snuck away towards his corner of the room. Dudley would have liked nothing better than to have stormed out of the room at that point, upset as he was. Instead, he had to lie down, because he suddenly had a splitting headache.

~HP~

Following the quidditch match in February, the trio decided to investigate Snape and Quirrel some more. But they soon learned that that was no easy business. They tried keeping an eye on the third floor corridor, but neither professor seemed to be lurking around there. On the whole, nothing suspicious was happening.

On top of that, Snape still seemed to be everywhere Harry was, and even Quirrel kept shooting them sideways glances whenever they spotted him in the corridors.

Before they knew it, March had passed, as well, it was the last day of the month, and the Easter holidays were to begin in a couple of days. On top of that, both of Harry's friends had opted to stay, much to his joy.

"We should have been more careful. We shouldn't have let them become suspicious," moaned Hermione that evening, after their last trip to the third floor corridor for that day.

"Too late for that," was Ron's best shot at reassuring her.

"We have to think of something," said Harry. "We're no closer to deciding which of the two is after the stone."

"Well..." Hermione fell silent, and chewed on her lip. "Maybe we could try asking around."

"What?" exclaimed Ron. "Last time I suggested that you thought it was a barmy idea!"

"When was that?"

"In December. Don't you remember? When Harry wanted to know how to buy presents-"

"Oh, don't be silly, Ron," interrupted Hermione as soon as she remembered what he was talking about. "That was completely different. I just said asking that sort of thing might be awkward-"

"What, and asking people which of our professors is more likely a criminal isn't?"

"That's-" Hermione began hotly, but Harry interrupted the bickering.

"I think it's a good idea, Hermione," he said. "We just need to get an idea what people think of them, and what they know about them. We'll need to be careful not to make anyone suspicious, of course-"

"Yes, that's what I meant." She shot Ron a smug look. "No direct questions. We just need to get people talking about those two. The older students, and maybe even the other professors. But we'll need to be extra careful with them."

Having decided on a plan, even if it was not much to go on at that moment, Harry became aware of the other occupants of the common room once again. There was Percy, talking loudly, and gesturing with his hands, trying to get the twins to pack. Fred and George were the only Weasleys leaving for the holidays, having decided that they did not need the extra studying. Harry was only half listening to them annoy their older brother with evasive non-answers, until he heard someone's birthday being mentioned.

Ron looked up, and then looked away again. Harry got suspicious.

"Is your birthday coming up?" he asked.

"What?" Ron looked surprised. "No."

"Whose birthday is coming up?" Hermione, who had already begun working on one of her essays, looked up. "Yours, Harry?"

"Er, no."

"Hah! Hermione, how can you get Harry's birthday wrong? What happened to all the books you read about him?"

"Oh, right." Hermione grew red. "It's in July, isn't it?"

"Er, yes."

"So is it Ron's birthday, then?"

"That's what I was asking."

"No, it's not. It's ours," said one of the twins, who had walked up behind them unnoticed. "Or will be in-" He looked at his watch.

"Four hours," supplied the other twin. "Ron's birthday was a month ago."

"Oh, we didn't even know," said Hermione, sounding disappointed.

"Don't worry. We all forget it as well," said the twin that Harry was almost sure was Fred.

"Figures," said Harry in sudden realisation. "Of course your birthday would fall on April Fools' Day."

As soon as he saw the lack of recognition on the twins' faces, he knew he had made a mistake.

"April Fools?" asked Fred, who had become interested as soon as he had noticed Harry flinch.

"So, Hermione, what's April Fools' Day?" asked George before Harry had the chance to come up with an explanation.

Hermione started explaining before she could think better of it, her need to answer every question correctly winning over her common sense. She had blurted out all the important details before she could rein in her tongue.

"That's a very interesting day muggles have there. What do you say Fred?"

"You're right, George. A truly excellent day. Of course it was bound to be our birthday."

"And we didn't even know until now."

"Never got to celebrate it."

"And we only have a few hours-"

"To plan this year's celebration-"

"To make up for all the times we didn't know."

"Thanks, Harry!" they said together, and walked off, whispering excitedly.

"Yeah. Thanks, Harry," said Ron darkly. "You, too, Hermione."

Both friends cringed.

~HP~

The next day, long before sunrise, Harry had another gruelling quidditch practice. He was woken up far earlier than expected, by a frantic and confused Oliver who insisted they had overslept and that the others had already started practice without them.

Once they arrived on the quidditch pitch, Harry's suspicion turned out to be correct. The twins had started early with their peculiar celebration of their birthday. They had woken up Angelina – which in itself was a questionable thing to do, as boys were not supposed to enter the girls' dormitories – and told her that Oliver had gone mad and ordered training extra early. Alicia, who shared her dorm, had suffered the same fate. While the girls had been convinced to look for Katie as well, the twins had started on on Oliver himself, telling him that he and Harry were late for training, and that the others had already begun training.

The twins' lies were uncovered quickly enough once they were all on the pitch, but Oliver decided to go ahead with the training, seeing as they were already there. The twins did not stop there, though. Even though everyone was ready to kill them by then, they kept trying to mess with Oliver's head, trying to convince him that he was confusing the dates for their quidditch pitch bookings, and even the date of their next match. They kept at it until Oliver actually started doubting his memory, even though his obsession with the game made that almost impossible. As a result, they had to endure the hardest training they had since before their last match.

"What a training. I'm exhausted. I thought we started training this hard to survive Snape's refereeing," said Harry.

"Hush, you. I don't want to hear any of you slacking off," said Wood. "Now that we actually have a chance to win the Cup-"

The others followed this up with protests, shooting Harry sympathetic looks.

"Don't worry, Oliver. If we could win with Snape refereeing, the next match should be easy enough," Harry tried again, remembering his discussion with his friends the evening before.

More protest followed from Oliver, and now Harry received some exasperated looks from the others.

Then, finally, Angelina picked up the topic of Snape.

"Don't worry so much about Snape, Harry. I know, he's not easy to deal with at the best of times, and he really doesn't seem to like you. But he's yet to make good on any of his nastier threats. Dumbledore sees to that."

"He does threaten to poison us every year, though," muttered George.

"He threatens everyone, but with you two, he might actually try," Angelina shot back.

That was a sharper comment from her than usual. She obviously still was not over that morning's prank from the twins.

"Don't sound so happy about it, Ange," said Fred. "You know you'd miss us."

"Nah, he wouldn't dare," said George.

"Because if he did-" went on Fred.

"We'd have to take revenge."

"Nasty-"

"Fabulous-"

"Unavoidable-"

"Unbeatable-"

"Twin revenge!" they finished together.

"Oh, haha. Yeah. Snape's afraid of your revenge. I'll believe that in a minute," said Angelina, trying to sound condescending, but could not keep a smile off her lips.

"Tsk, tsk." Fred shook his head. "Ye of little faith."

"We know things-"

"And dare things-"

"No one else does," the twins went on conspiratorially.

"Really. Like what?" asked Harry.

"No. Harry," said Angelina. "Don't give them the satisfaction-" But she was too late.

"Now that's the question, isn't it?" Fred slung his arm around Harry's shoulders. "You understand of course that we cannot tell you."

"We can't just give you-"

"Our best secrets."

Harry decided at this point he was unlikely to hear anything useful about Snape and tried to extricate himself.

"Sure. I believe that." He shook his head, and stepped out from under Fred's arm. "You have secret weapons against Snape."

He received two identical indignant looks from the twins. They exchanged a look that seemed to communicate a great deal.

"I see you don't believe us."

"We're hurt, Harry-"

"Disappointed-"

"Yeah, yeah, all right." Harry tried to step past them into the changing room.

"I see we'll need to offer a little evidence. What do you think, Fred?"

"You're right, George. No one has faith any more, these days." Fred sighed dramatically. "But he did tell us about this glorious day, our birthday."

"Evidence? What sort of evidence?" Harry was aware he was being toyed with, but he could not help his curiosity win over.

"Now he wants to listen. What should we tell him, George?"

The other twin thought for a moment. Then his eyes brightened, and he motioned Fred towards him to whisper something in his ear. Both twins looked at Harry with rather scary smiles.

"So, er, what is that scary weapon you have against him?" Harry chuckled nervously.

"It's just one word-"

"And don't ask us to explain-"

"Because we're not going to tell you more, no matter what you say."

They paused dramatically, but Harry resisted the urge to ask again.

"It's 'Marauders'," Fred finally said in an almost reverent whisper.

"Marauders? What's that?"

"Shh." George looked around, as if scared of being overheard. "And it's not 'what'. It's 'who'-"

"And that's more than you need to know."

"If you decide to use it-"

"Do it sparingly-"

"Carefully."

"Because we promise no other human being ever turns as purple as Snape does at their mention."

The twins dissolved into rather evil-sounding cackles, and Harry decided it would be safer for him if he made himself scarce just then.

~HP~

It started out slowly, with a misdirection here and there, rumours spread about cancelled classes, while professors were delayed with unexpected summons to the headmaster. But over the course of the day, the chaos wrecked by the twins piled up, and people started to notice.

It all came together in the Great Hall during lunch. The professors were all crowded around Dumbledore, demanding to know why he had disrupted the day's lessons, several students were being accused, who all kept pointing their fingers at other people, and it took a while until the source of all the spread rumours and false information could be determined.

Once the twins' names came up, the jig was up. The boys started shouting April Fools, until Snape interrupted them, and began to shout at them himself, demanding they be expelled. Dumbledore, though, was more amused than angered, and let the Weasley boys explain. As one who knew him might have expected, he found the idea of April Fools' Day amusing rather than annoying. He even agreed that it should be celebrated, much to the other professors' horror.

After the twins mentioned that, on top of that, it was their birthday as well, all the professors had also been won over, even McGonagall. Only Snape's dark glower promised retribution.

Quirrel, Harry noticed, was conspicuously absent.

Harry had been telling his friends about his attempt to talk to his quidditch teammates about Snape over lunch before the twins' antics drew their attention. He had just started telling them about Fred and George's 'secret weapon' against their least favourite professor.

"Yeah. I wouldn't trust them to tell you anything useful," said Ron sceptically.

"I agree. It was probably another April Fools hoax, and the word doesn't mean anything to Snape at all."

Hermione's comment was followed by another bout of outraged shouting from Snape at yet another cheeky comment form one of the twins.

"Yeah... Or it might work too well," said Ron, and all three friends giggled.

Harry and his friends were not ones to give up easily, and over the course of the next weeks they tried their best to find out more about Snape and Quirrel from the other inhabitants of Hogwarts. They had to admit, though, that things were not going too well.

It was not easy to find an excuse to talk about a teacher to begin with. The only topics the three could think of were either complaining about Snape's treatment of his Gryffindor students, or making fun of some of Quirrel's more ridiculous behaviours. Hermione was not comfortable with the first, and none of them were comfortable with the second. Making fun of people's stutters and fears did not usually sit well with them.

The worst part, though, was that none of it was helping. People agreed with them on Snape, and laughed about Quirrel, but no one was telling them anything new.

"Maybe we should try the professors, after all," said Hermione after another useless attempt.

"And how do you want to go about that?" Ron was quick to point out the flaw in her plan.

Hermione had no answer for him.

Weeks passed, the Easter holidays came and went, and with Hermione around, that meant a lot of studying to prepare for the exams which were still months away. With all the studying she was forcing upon them, the boys would have been surprised to learn that she still had time to think of something else. She did. It was just that nothing she could think of seemed likely to work.

It was only after the holidays, when Professor Flitwick mentioned notice-me-not charms in class that Hermione finally thought of a way to discuss Snape and Quirrel with another teacher.

Harry had received a letter from Dudley telling him about his troubles with keeping their correspondence secret and decided to seek some help. He approached the front desk after class.

"Er, Professor, can I ask you a question?"

Hermione and Ron, who were almost out the door at that point, looked back. Harry saw them drag their feet in the doorway, but finally they stepped back into the classroom so they could hear what Harry had to ask.

"Of course, Mr Potter. Go ahead," Flitwick said amiably.

"Er, it's about that notice-me-not charm, Professor. I was wondering, would it be very difficult for me to learn it?"

"Mr Potter, I'm delighted with your interest in the subject, but I fear that particular charm might be a bit advanced for a first-year. Oh, but if you're concerned about keeping your things secret here at Hogwarts, there's far easier ways-"

"No, it's not that." At Flitwick's s surprised look, Harry proceeded to explain. "It's my cousin, Professor. He's a muggle, and he's at another boarding school right now. He knows of course that I'm a wizard, but no one else at his school is to find out. Just before the holidays, he wrote that some people at his school had spotted my owl. I mean, that's no big deal, but-"

"No, no. That is a serious concern, of course." Flitwick frowned, looking far more concerned than Harry thought his story warranted.

"No one saw much of anything," said Hermione, who had walked over to stand next to Harry. She, as a muggleborn, had received far more serious warnings about keeping the magical world secret, and knew better that everyone took any breach of the Statute of Secrecy very seriously.

"It's just that Hedwig is a snowy owl, and she gets noticed easily," said Harry.

"Yes, I see." Flitwick took on a thoughtful expression. "I know this might be a little more trouble," he began after a little pause, "but couldn't you ask your aunt and uncle to forward the letters by muggle post?"

Harry could not think of a good reply, and was about to turn away in disappointment, when Flitwick shook his head.

"No, that won't do, will it? No, eleven-year-old boys don't want their parents interfering, do they?" Flitwick fell silent again. "Hm, there might..." he muttered. "I might have an idea. Let me think it over until our next class, Mr Potter, and I'll see what I can come up with."

"Thank you, Professor."

"Oh, Professor, he doesn't want to be any trouble," Hermione said unexpectedly.

"I – What?" Harry looked at her, hoping for an explanation, but instead, she stepped on his foot quite firmly, and smiled at Flitwick.

"It won't be any trouble, Miss Granger. I'll just have to see if I can modify the spell slightly, make it easier-"

"Oh, but – but you'd need to work that out. It wouldn't take you any time at all, I'm sure," she added flatteringly, "but maybe we should ask someone else? Do you think there might be some potions that do a similar thing? Or maybe some defensive spells..."

Thankfully, Harry's brain caught up with what Hermione was trying to do, before he turned to her and asked her whether she had gone mad.

"Hmm..." Flitwick rubbed his chin in thought. "I'm afraid I've never heard of such a potion. You could ask Professor Snape, I suppose," he added doubtfully, "but...Oh, well, if it can't wait, and you really, desperately need – I mean, of course you could ask him.

"As for defensive spells – I'll let you know I used to be a duelling champion when I was younger. I do have some idea what defensive spells are out there. Notice-me-not charms actually belong to that category. It's just that, with the way Defence Against the Dark Arts has been taught in previous years, I prefer to cover it in my class."

"Professor Quirrel doesn't teach it?" asked Harry, trying to get him to tell them more about his colleagues.

"He – I don't know. He's only started teaching the subject this year. The professors we had in previous years – none of them lasted very long, you see? Teaching that subject has been a bit – sporadic."

"We do a lot of reading in his class," supplied Hermione. "A lot of bookwork."

"That hasn't changed, I suppose. That's how he used to be as a muggle studies professor."

"He's changed, then?" asked Harry, holding his breath, trying not to show how much he was interested in the answer.

"You could say that." Flitwick frowned, clearly unhappy with something.

"He seems very – concerned with safety," Hermione said carefully. "There are rumours he ran into something he couldn't deal with, when he was travelling last year-"

"And yet he seems to have grown far more powerful than he used to be," mumbled Flitwick, almost thoughtlessly. He visibly checked himself as he heard himself speak the words. "That is to say, he seems to have used that year well to advance in his new subject. So maybe you're right, and asking him might be a good idea. I've noticed him use an obscure charm once or twice, so it's entirely possible he might know some spell that might help you that I don't know of."

They thanked the professor and left, almost unable to keep their excitement restrained until they were out of sight. Ron, who had waited by the door, was almost bouncing on the spot at that point.

"Merlin, Hermione, that was brilliant!" he said, barely out of Flitwick's earshot.

"Yes, well done, Hermione," Harry added quietly.

Hermione glowed from all that praise, fairly red in the face, and squealed – just a little bit.

They did not have much time to discuss their new-found knowledge, because that afternoon, they encountered Hagrid in the library, and found out about his new pet dragon – which gave them an entirely new thing to worry about.


	7. Chapter 7

It took a while before Harry and his friends could think of anything other than the dragon egg in Hagrid's hut. Ron was not the only one wishing for a more peaceful life at that moment, with only one problem to deal with at a time.

Soon enough, though, they were back to discussing the Philosopher's Stone.

"All right, at least we know for sure who's after the stone now," sighed Hermione.

"What, because Hagrid said that both Snape and Quirrel are protecting it?" Harry asked sceptically.

"Yes. Remember when you overheard them in the forest? Snape was asking Quirrel about the other teachers' protections. If Quirrel is also protecting the stone, Snape should have asked him about his own protection, not the others'. I'm sure now Snape was trying to find out how safe the stone still was from Quirrel."

"Nah, I've known for longer than that," Ron waved her off. "The way Snape was shouting at the twins the other day – did that seem like he's expecting to get rich and leave teaching behind any time soon? I don't think so. He's stuck here, and he knows it."

"Quirrel, on the other hand, left last year, and came back changed!" agreed Hermione excitedly. "Well spotted, Ron."

The ginger boy looked very satisfied with the compliment, and Harry had to wonder at the notion of his friends agreeing on something for a change.

At Harry's silence, his friends noticed his sceptical expression. Hermione took on a determined look, ready to convince him, but Ron was quicker.

"Or maybe we got it all wrong. Maybe the rumours are true, and Snape really is a vampire, and-" he began with his favourite joke theory.

"Don't be ridiculous, Ron-" Hermione sounded even less inclined than usual to go along with it.

"You never know-"

"Of course you do. We've seen him outside-"

"We have? When was the last time?"

Hermione had to think about that one, and nearly agreed with a giggle that that was a valid argument. "Oh, of course. He refereed that quidditch match!"

"But that was on a cloudy day!" said Ron triumphantly.

The boys laughed at Hermione's perplexed expression, and soon she joined in, resigned to the silliness of the moment.

"As I was saying, if Snape's a vampire," Ron tried again, "or if he's trying to become one – you can't argue against that one, Hermione – the black robes, his aversion to daylight-"

"His teeth," added Harry, and the boys laughed some more.

"Maybe he wants to brew the elixir of life to become undead, to complete the transformation."

"Stop it, stop being silly, you two," Hermione said with a sudden sharp note in her voice. At the surprised looks from her friends her expression mellowed once more. "It's just – Don't you see? That's probably what Quirrel's after! All those rumours that he got hurt during his travels – What if they're true?"

She was going to say more, but she stopped at the boys' stricken looks.

"Okay, that makes rather a lot of sense," Harry said after a moment.

"So you agree now that it's Quirrel who's after the stone?"

"Yes. I-" Harry rubbed his nose under his glasses. "It's not that I didn't think your arguments made sense. I just wasn't sure why he'd want to do something like that," he said a little embarrassedly.

"Oh, Harry. Do you still think Snape's trying to kill you?"

"He is!"

"Of course he is!" Ron agreed as well.

"Well, I don't know. I mean, he hates you. That's obvious. But he attacked you in a quidditch match, and then refereed the next one... You did say he and McGonagall both take quidditch very seriously..."

"Merlin, do you really think he'd have killed Harry just for the Quidditch Cup?"

For Ron to ask that, showed how thin Hermione's argument really was.

"Oh, I don't know," she backtracked. "I just... I'm just sure it's Quirrel who's trying to steal the stone."

"Agreed," said Harry, and Ron nodded as well.

There was more to the whole thing, Harry was sure. He had a feeling he was involved in this in some way, even though it always sounded conceited when he tried to voice that thought. For the moment, though, he decided to see what would happen next.

They had a more immediate problem to deal with, anyway. Hagrid's dragon was growing rapidly, and they suspected Draco Malfoy knew more about it than was good for them. Still, whenever they passed the third floor corridor, they listened at the door, to reassure themselves that Fluffy was still there. They also started giving Quirrel sympathetic looks whenever they passed him in the corridors, convinced now that he was severely ill.

Harry still had his suspicions about Snape, but had decided to let them go – for the most part.

One afternoon, when he and Ron had grown tired of Hermione forcing them to revise the same material they had revised the day before, Harry walked out of the common room, saying he would take a walk.

"Wait, I'll come along," said Ron quickly, and followed him.

"Good idea, Harry," he said when they were out of earshot. "Hermione's getting worse, if that's even possible."

"And we still have weeks before the exams. We have to have a talk with her."

"You do it, then. I'm not suicidal."

They both laughed at that, and continued walking.

"Er, Harry, are we actually going somewhere?"

"I was going to the trophy room, but it's not important. We could go flying, if you like." Ron, unlike Hermione, had already passed his flying class, and was allowed to use the brooms in his free time.

"The trophy room? Whatever did you want to go there for?"

"Er... Just wanted to check something out," mumbled Harry.

He was not usually this reluctant, and Ron immediately grew suspicious. "What is this about? Wait. It's not something to do with Snape again, is it?"

"I just wanted to see if he or McGonagall ever played quidditch. I mean, maybe Hermione's right, and he really is that obsessed with his House winning. At least it'd give me one less thing to think about..."

"They don't need to have played themselves for that. There's always competition between Gryffindor and Slytherin, in pretty much everything!"

"I know. I just..."

Ron shook his head, but did not say anything, just followed behind.

The room was empty when they arrived. Ron opted to look for McGonagall as he was sure Harry was more interested in looking up Snape. The boys looked through the shelves, trying to guess their professors' ages. Soon there was silence in the room, as each of them was reading through the names written on the trophies.

"Harry, look! I've found her!" Ron called a little while later. "You were right – she used to play – for – let me see – three years, I think. And won the cup twice in that time! Used to be chaser – and even the captain in her final year!"

There was no reply.

"Harry? Did you hear me?" Ron said a little louder, and walked back to where he had left his friend.

Harry was not far from there, staring at a trophy.

"What? Did you find Snape?" asked Ron as he came closer.

"No," Harry finally replied quietly. "And I'm pretty sure I looked far enough back. He never played. But look whose name I did find."

Ron did. And realised what had his friend so captivated. There were two Cups won by Gryffindor in consecutive years, by almost identical teams, both having James Potter as captain.

"Huh. Your Dad was a chaser, too," said Ron.

"Yeah. He played quidditch – like me. And he was probably pretty good."

"Well, yeah! He was captain for two years, and his team won both times!"

"Wood would be so jealous."

"Everyone would be jealous of that. Charlie was captain for two years, as well, but they only won once, in his final year."

"Might have been the rest of the team. It wasn't just my dad, was it? They kept six of seven players, so I guess they must have been good."

Ron nodded, looking over the names of the players of Gryffindor's past glory days.

Then both boys blinked in surprise.

"Huh. Sirius Black," Harry read the name out loud. "Didn't notice that before. Didn't you say the Blacks were all in Slytherin?"

Ron frowned. "I thought they were. Let me see. Maybe it's a mistake. Is his name written on the other trophy as well?"

"Nope. He was the one player that changed."

"Strange."

"What's strange is seeing the two of you loitering in this room."

The sudden intrusion made both boys jump. They turned around, and found themselves face-to-face with Filch.

"Er, we – we were just-"

"Looking up the previous generation of misfits, I can see that."

"Misfits?"

"I heard you talking about Sirius Black. I should give you detention for discussing dark wizards in secret like that-"

"Detention!" exclaimed Ron. "But we haven't done anything! We just found his name on the Cup here, next to Harry's dad's."

"Of course. Potter and Black! Never far apart, and always out to make my life miserable. And look how their lives turned out – one's dead, and the other's rotting in Azkaban!" said Filch rather happily. "And if you two don't want to come to a similar end, you'll stop this unruly behaviour at once."

"What unruly-" began Ron, but Harry interrupted him.

"We'll go back to the common room, then."

The boys turned and started walking back, Filch following not far behind. Harry still heard his muttered, "Potter looking up Black, of all people. But, no, no trouble intended, of course."

Harry was quiet the rest of the evening, and even winning exploding snap against Hermione and seeing her charred, dumbstruck expression could not distract him from his thoughts for very long. He went up to his dorm early, before the other occupants, and pulled out the wizarding genealogy Ron had given him for Christmas. He had just found the name Sirius Black on the Black family tree, when Ron and Hermione came in.

"So that's what had you so distracted," said Ron as soon as he spotted the genealogy on Harry's bed.

"So what's this about, then?" asked Hermione, causing the boy next to her to throw Harry an apologetic look.

Harry shrugged. It had been difficult to keep anything from Hermione before she became their friend, and it had become quite impossible since then. He proceeded to tell her about their encounter with Filch, noting that she did not ask why they had been in the trophy room at all. Ron grimaced when Harry shot him a look. Ah, so Hermione had already managed to get that part out of the other boy.

"I just – I wanted to see if there really was a Sirius Black in this book. It just seemed – odd. A member of a Slytherin family in Gryffindor – and friends with my dad. I thought, maybe he was a muggleborn, or something, and his last name was just a coincidence."

Ron shook his head. "I think I've heard the name, actually. Maybe something to do with the war, but I'm not sure. Mum doesn't want us to know too much about such things."

"It is odd, though. A Gryffindor quidditch player, friends with Harry's dad of all people – who is famous for having fought you-know-who – and now he's in Azkaban, and you think it's because he was a supporter of you-know-who." Hermione frowned. "Harry, would it be all right if I looked up this Black person?"

"Go ahead. Actually, I'm curious, too. So if you do find out something, please tell me."

"Me, too. I'd never have thought a Gryffindor would have joined you-know-who, much less a quidditch player." Ron scowled, looking like his pride had been hurt.

Not long after that, Filch finally got his wish, and managed to catch Harry and Hermione as they were leaving the Astronomy Tower at one in the morning, after sending Norbert off with Charlie's friends. The adventure cost them a hundred and fifty points, fifty for Harry and Hermione each, and another fifty for poor Neville who had heard Malfoy and had tried to warn them.

After being sent to bed, Harry could not sleep for a long time, listening to Neville's muffled sobs, and berating himself for their botched rescue mission.

Sometimes, it only takes a little nudge – a single thought – to change someone's course of action. This time, as well, very similar reasons – a feeling that they had not been a very good friend to the other – suddenly convinced both boys that something needed to be said between them after all. Neville stopped sobbing, and an expectant silence fell in the room.

"I'm sorry," they said simultaneously.

"Why are you saying sorry, Harry? I'm the one who got you caught," said Neville with a hitch in his voice.

"What? No, it wasn't like that. Filch caught us long before McGonagall found us. He's been trying to give us detention all year, and he finally got his wish. But I'm sorry you got involved in this mess. We didn't even notice you had heard us. But then, we were careless about the whole thing. We knew Malfoy might have found out something, but we ignored it. I don't even know what we were thinking – That he'd just go away and leave us in peace?" he added bitterly.

Neville felt relief wash over him. His secret fear – that he had refused to admit to even himself – that Harry and his friends had noticed Neville overhearing them but had not cared if it would get him in trouble – or even worse, that he had been an intended target as well – disappeared, and he almost felt like smiling, despite all the trouble he was in.

"So you weren't trying to get Malfoy in trouble?" he asked the less important of his nagging questions, the other one having already been answered.

"No." Harry hesitated a moment, before continuing. "We were trying to help – a friend – in a tight spot. Please don't ask," he added hastily.

Neville gave a tiny, snorting laugh.

"We might have acted without thinking, but we did have a reason. We'd never have done something so foolish just to get Malfoy in trouble. He isn't worth it," said Harry with feeling.

The sincerity in his tone finally dissipated all lingering doubts in Neville's mind. Of course they had been trying to hep someone. That was how they were, had he not learned that about them already?

"And did you manage to do whatever you were doing? Or – Ron? Did you get caught so you could cover for him? So he could finish whatever it was you were doing? Is that why he wasn't with you?" he asked excitedly, wanting to know more about their secret adventure.

"Er, no, he, uh..." Harry mumbled something unintelligible.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"I said, Ron got bitten by the dragon. He doesn't even know what happened, because he's still in the hospital wing."

There was silence for a moment, and then Neville began to giggle. "So there really was a dragon?" he asked.

"Yeah. And it took us a while, but we finally convinced … uh, our friend, that he couldn't keep it."

"So where is the dragon now?"

"It's gone. We got some people to take it away to a dragon reserve."

"That's so cool. You always help when someone's in trouble. Me, though... I wish I could have helped," he finished softly.

"And I wish we didn't always land you in so much trouble. We haven't been very good friends to you, have we?"

"You have! You're the best friends anyone could wish!" He stopped, becoming aware that that was a strong statement. He did not take it back, though, glad to hear that the other boy considered him their friend. "All my other friends are connected to my family somehow. Ugh, 'family connections'. How that sounds! Before I was sorted into Gryffindor, and met you, I could have passed for a Slytherin!"

Both boys laughed, the air between them cleared once again.

"I want to be a real Gryffindor," Neville said silently in the calm quiet that had started to settle over them. " I want to really help next time."

"Okay," Harry mumbled sleepily, not entirely sure what he was promising.

In no time at all, both had drifted off to sleep.

~HP~

"Where are you, you stupid bird?" muttered Dudley and shifted from one foot to the other. Ever since his fight with Piers, when his other dorm mate had let him know how much he had noticed about Dudley's letter exchange with his cousin, he had become more paranoid about Harry's letters being discovered.

Dudley had written to Harry, and they had decided Hedwig would arrive on previously agreed on times at a corridor window, not far from the dorm the blond boy shared with Piers and Artie. The system had worked well enough so far. Hedwig had shown herself more than up to the task, and had learned quickly not to be spotted. At least the sneaking around had become easier, now that he and Piers were no longer as close as they used to be, and the other boy rarely paid attention to him any more.

Dudley still worried, though. In part, because the days were getting longer, and it was already broad daylight no matter how early he forced himself to get up.

He shifted his weight again, and almost jumped on the spot. Partly because he was getting nervous waiting here, worried that someone might see him. Partly because he was getting chilled, standing in his pyjamas in front of the open window.

Once again, his eyes scanned the horizon, and he looked at his watch. What was taking that bird so long? Usually she had already arrived by that time. Yet, that morning, he could not even spot her on the horizon.

A soft hoot next to him almost made him jump out of his skin. He had to look around himself a few times, until he spotted Hedwig perched on the windowsill, right in front of him. How had she managed to creep up on him?

"You really gave me a fright, you know that?" he grumbled. "Don't do it again."

Dudley took the letter from her and gave her some of the owl treats he had bought for her in secret, now hidden in the farthest corner of his trunk. (And what an odd notion it was, to be buying, and hiding, treats not meant for himself).

"I'll have a letter for you after class. I'll come here as soon as I can. Don't be late again."

Hedwig hooted, sounding offended, and flew off.

Dudley ripped the letter open and began to read.

_Morning, Dudley,_

_Hope you got the letter all right. Hermione and I – well, mostly Hermione, but I'm getting there as well – learned a new spell to make Hedwig less noticeable. We asked our Charms professor, and he modified a third-year charm so we could learn it. I'm not sure how effective it's going to be – he said he simplified it quite a bit. Let me know how it works._

It worked just fine, thought Dudley, Hedwig's arrival making a lot more sense all of a sudden. He could not decide whether he should feel awed or scared.

_Hogwarts is exciting as always. Hermione and I were caught smuggling Norbert out of Hogwarts, and we're going to serve detention in a few weeks. We even managed to drag another kid into our mess. Ron only managed to stay out of trouble because Norbert had bitten his hand the day before, and he had to stay in the hospital wing._

_So I've decided to stay out of trouble from now on. I'm doing my homework, and revising for the exams, and training for this year's final quidditch match. If Gryffindor loses the House Cup because of all the points I've lost, the least I can do is help win the Quidditch Cup._

_How about you? Have you made up with Piers? And what about that other boy in your dorm? Is he still asking questions about my letters?_

_I'm afraid I don't have many new things to tell you about the magical world this time._ The next sentence was crossed out, and then the letter continued with: _But I did find out about Azkaban. That's a prison for magical folks. Not sure if you ever wondered about it, but obviously witches and wizards can't be held in ordinary prisons. They'd just disapparate. (That's like teleportation – remember I told you about it?) So they have Azkaban instead. I don't know much about it, but from what I've learned, it's a pretty awful place, and the guards are the foulest of magical creatures, called dementors._

_I have to go now. Ron just challenged Hermione to a chess game, and she accepted! I have to see that. It's not often you see her struggle at something after all._

_Harry_

His cousin's life seemed interesting as ever. Dudley wondered how long his resolve to stay out of trouble would last. He gave it a week. At most.

Dudley sneaked back into his dorm after classes. He pulled out his own letter from the same place where he kept all of his cousin's letters. It was almost finished, but Dudley wanted to see if he had something to add as a response to what Harry had written. Maybe ask why his cousin had wanted to know about wizarding prisons – not that Dudley was not glad that they existed – knowing that witches and wizards could be punished did wonders to make him feel safer thinking about the magical world. He snorted as another thought occurred to him. With a soft laugh, he began writing his cousin about St Brutus.

He looked over his reply one more. Maybe ask about Ron's health, he decided. Harry was very fond of his two friends, and it just seemed the right thing to do, stupid though it sounded, no matter how he phrased it.

"Oh, sorry."

Dudley looked up, startled. Artie was standing in front of him, looking like he had been caught doing something he was not supposed to.

"I – I didn't notice what you were doing," he went on before Dudley could grasp the situation.

Oh. Of course. Artie had recognised the written paper in Dudley's hand for what it was – correspondence with his mystery cousin. Before Dudley could decide how to respond, the smaller boy scurried over to his table, and pulled out some things which he put in his bag.

"I'm just going to the computer room, that's all. I'll be out of your hair in a second." He was as good as his word, already heading for the door.

"Right," snorted Dudley. "Can't study enough." He was trying not to let the other boy notice how much it worried him that Artie was aware what he was doing.

"Uh, yeah, that too," the boy mumbled, and Dudley all of a sudden spotted the computer game sticking out from his bag.

"That stupid fantasy game? That's what you do for fun?" he asked in surprise.

Artie shrugged self-consciously.

Dudley thought it over quickly. Ever since his row with Piers his life at Smeltings had been no fun. The situation with Piers had not improved, and he had no other friends – in part, because he and Piers had tried bullying most of the boys in their year at some point or other. He had tried hanging out with older troublemakers, but though they thought his attempts to be like them amusing, for the most part they thought him too young to let him join their groups. He had been so bored the last few weeks, he had even tried doing his homework.

In the end, the decision did not seem nearly as momentous as he would later feel it had been.

"Ever tried playing Mega Mutilation?" he asked Artie.


	8. Chapter 8

The loss of House points did not go down well with the rest of the school. Harry, who had previously been one of the most popular students, suddenly found himself one of the most disliked. Even his fellow quidditch players on the House team would only refer to him as the seeker, and no longer included him in their jokes and teasing. Fred and George were less bothered by the loss of points, and were the exception, but even they slipped up and called him 'the seeker' a few times.

Hermione and Neville were also suffering because of their misadventure, but as they had never been popular, their fall was not as pronounced.

Ron tried to comfort both Harry and Hermione, who were beating themselves up quite badly, but in the end all he could do was go along with the crazy amount of studying his two friends needed to keep their minds off their botched rescue mission. He did not even complain. Much.

Then, about a week before the exams, Harry managed to overhear Quirrell once again, quite by chance, when he was walking back from the library on his own. He heard whimpering from an otherwise empty classroom, and recognised the voice.

"No – no – not again, please—"

The mystery was too tempting. For all that he had promised not to meddle, Harry had to find out who seemed to be threatening Quirrell. For a moment, he was convinced it must be Snape, which might prove that his suspicions were not as unfounded as Hermione always made them out to be. But he could not hear a second voice, try as he might.

"All right – all right—" he heard Quirrell sob a little later, before he rushed out of the classroom, looking as if he were close to crying.

The whole episode left him confused more than anything. He told Ron and Hermione, but for all that they analysed it from every angle they could think of, they could not make much sense of it.

Had Quirrell been talking to Snape? Did that mean it was Snape who was after the stone after all? (Hermione did not like that theory – said it was not 'logical'.) Or, on the contrary, had Snape finally convinced Quirrell to stop his criminal activities? (Ron disagreed with that one – not to mention Harry – because Snape just did not have enough goodwill for that.) Or, most bizarrely, had Quirrell been talking to an as-of-yet-unknown third person? Who had managed to get into Hogwarts without being discovered?

There were many unanswered questions, and as the friends had decided to stop looking for answers, all they could do was try to resign themselves to never knowing. That did not sit well with any of them, though none of them ever said as much.

That episode was not to remain a mystery for long, though.

That night, Harry and Hermione had their detention together with Neville and Malfoy. As soon as Hagrid told them they would be investigating something killing unicorns, Hermione tensed up. Once they had split up, and it was just her, Harry and Hagrid, she began to explain what she knew about the life-preserving properties of unicorn blood.

"How did ye learn of that? Yer not supposed to know abou' dark stuff like that until after yer OWLs," said a surprised Hagrid when he heard what she was talking about.

But they were not listening to him. They looked at each other, both thinking the same thing.

"He can't be that desperate," said Harry. "If his whole life's cursed… What would be the point?"

Hermione shook her head, unable to come up with a reply.

Then Malfoy had to make things difficult, of course, and after making Neville send red sparks after scaring him for no good reason, Hagrid decided to change the groups, leaving Harry to deal with Malfoy. The boys were the first to find the unicorn. But that was not the only thing they found. There was a black-clad figure crouching next to it, and as soon as Harry saw it, he knew he was dealing with someone far worse than Quirrell.

Malfoy and Fang ran, but Harry was frozen to the spot as the figure advanced on him, and the only thing he was aware of was the blinding pain in his scar. At that moment, the centaur Firenze came to his rescue, chasing the hooded figure away.

As he was taken back to Hagrid, he had to ask about the figure he had just escaped from. Firenze's answer – given as cryptic questions – made him feel like an iron fist was clenching his heart. Even though Hermione's and Hagrid's appearance stopped Firenze from confirming that he was talking about Voldemort, Harry had no doubts.

Ron had fallen asleep in the dark common room, waiting for them to return. He shouted something about quidditch fouls when Harry roughly shook him awake. In a matter of seconds, though, he was wide-eyed as Harry began to tell him and Hermione what had happened in the forest.

Harry could not sit down. He paced up and down in front of the fire. He was still shaking.

"Quirrell is working with Voldemort; they're going to share the elixir of life… of course he's more powerful now, Voldemort must have been teaching him all sorts of things in exchange for his help… Voldemort himself is waiting in the forest, surviving on unicorn blood… I bet he was the one talking to Quirrell yesterday… getting inside Hogwarts would hardly be a challenge to him…"

"Stop saying his name," said Ron in a terrified whisper.

"And for days now we've been feeling sorry for him. Poor stuttering, scared Quirrell, he's probably dying…"

"Oh, no," moaned Hermione. "He can't have…"

"What?" Harry asked distractedly, and then continued his own line of thought. "Firenze saved me, but he shouldn't have done so... Bane was furious... he was talking about interfering with what the planets say is going to happen... They must show that Voldemort's coming back... Bane thinks Firenze should have let Voldemort kill me... I suppose that's written in the stars as well."

"Harry, I think we got it all wrong! It must have been Quirrell who was cursing you during the quidditch match. It doesn't make sense the other way around. If he's helping you-know-who, why would he try to save you?"

That finally brought the bespectacled boy up short.

"Oh, that's all settled, now, isn't it? All he has to do now is steal the Stone," Harry said feverishly, "then Voldemort will be able to come back and finish me off himself... And the only one who's been trying to do anything against him is Snape, of all people… Well, I suppose Bane will be happy."

"Harry, everyone says Dumbledore's the only one you-know-who was ever afraid of. With Dumbledore around, you-know-who won't touch you. Anyway, who says the centaurs are right? It sounds like fortune-telling to me, and Professor McGonagall says that's a very imprecise branch of magic."

The sky had turned light before they stopped talking. They discussed going to Dumbledore with what they knew, but decided against it. There was no proof. And as long as Fluffy kept guard, there seemed no need to do anything rash. They went to bed exhausted, their throats sore. But the night's surprises were not over.

When Harry pulled back his sheets, he found his invisibility cloak folded neatly underneath them. There was a note pinned to it:

Just in case.

Harry did not know how he got through the exams in the following days, when all he could think about was the safety of the Stone, and the near constant pain in his scar that plagued him since his trip into the forest. His friends did not seem nearly as worried as him. They were busy enough with their studying. But Harry was plagued by his old nightmares which had become worse than ever, and a lurking feeling that he was forgetting something important.

It was after their last exam that Harry finally realised what had been bothering him. Ron had just mentioned Hagrid and Fluffy – to reassure him that the Stone was safe as Hagrid would never betray Dumbledore – and the dots connected themselves in Harry's mind.

They rushed to Hagrid's cabin, only to find their worst fears realised. Hagrid had indeed told the mysterious figure who had given him the dragon egg how to get past Fluffy – without even realising what he had done. Harry knew they had to tell Dumledore at that point – with or without proof – and his friends agreed.

They went back inside the castle, unsure how to find Dumbledore. But before they came very far, they ran into Professor McGonagall who told them that Dumbledore had gone to the Ministry for Magic. She was shocked to find out that the three first-years knew about the Stone, and would not listen to their warnings.

Just as Harry said Quirrell would try stealing the Stone that night, they ran into Snape, who warned them about night-time wanderings, and threatened them with expulsion.

"What a git," said Ron.

"Ron!" Hermione admonished him.

"What? He is! If he weren't such a git, we might have tried to get him to listen about Quirrell. He seems the only one suspicious of him, anyway."

"I don't think any of the professors will listen to us at this point," Harry said gloomily. "We'll have to try our best to deal with this on our own. Here's what we've got to do," he whispered urgently, and began explaining his plan.

Hermione was to wait outside the staff room, to keep an eye on Quirrell, and follow him if he left. Meanwhile, the boys would stay outside the third-floor corridor. But that part did not work. McGonagall turned up and made them leave.

Apparently, Hermione's assignment had also not gone to plan, they discovered when they reached their common room to find her waiting in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady with Snape.

"I'm sorry, Harry!" she wailed. "Professor Snape came out and asked me what I was doing, and I was going to say I was waiting for Professor Flitwick, but then I thought I better ask about Quirrell first, and—"

"Mind telling me now what the emergency is that could not possibly wait for your Head of House? I have better things to do with my time than deal with Gryffindor dramatics!" thundered Snape. "And why are you looking for Professor Quirrell? I told you, he turned in early, because he had a headache. That better not be the emergency you were talking about, or—"

Harry noticed the distaste with which Snape said 'Professor' before Quirrell, and almost smiled. But then he thought better of it. He took a deep breath, reminded himself that Snape had tried to save him when Quirrell had been cursing his broom during his first quidditch match, for all that he hated him, and went in for the kill.

"Quirrell knows how to get past Fluffy," he began without any preamble. "He – well, never mind how he found out, but he's known for a while now. But now Professor Dumbledore has gone to London, so there's nothing stopping him from going after the Stone—"

"Potter! How—" Snape's face had twisted into a weird grimace. He opened his mouth to say something, but then had to reconsider. He looked around, making sure to be unobserved, and then Harry noticed him moving his wand very subtly. "Potter, I don't know how you – How can any one student be this interfering!" He looked over the students in front of him. "Three! Three interfering Gryffindors at once – with not an ounce of sense between you. You are going to go inside that common room of yours now, and then you are going to stay there until morning—"

"What about the stone? Are you going to inform Professor Dumbledore?"

"Potter! One more word, and I'll give you detention until school's out! The Stone is better protected than the three of you could even conceive of-"

"But Quirrell found out ages ago what those protections are, as you know—"

"And how would you know that?"

"Er, good guess? Anyway, Professor Dumbledore has to be told—"

"Professor Dumbledore isn't the only one who can protect the Stone. I don't see how this is any of your business, but let me assure you that I haven't told Quirrell how to get past _my_ protection—"

Harry shook his head. "One protection might have been enough for Quirrel, but the other day, Firenze – he's a centaur in the forest – he told me Quirrell is helping Voldemort—"

"Do not say that name!" thundered Snape. "How – how—"

"He's a centaur. They can predict all sorts of things by looking at stars—"

"Be quiet!" After ensuring that his most despised student would remain quiet, Snape went on in a somewhat calmer voice. "I will inform Dumbledore, because I can't ignore such a safety issue as a teacher. However, should I find out that one word – _one word_ – of what you just told me isn't exactly as you said, I promise you, I will make sure all three of you will get expelled." He looked them over, satisfied to see fear in their eyes. "Any last minute corrections to your tale? No? Well, let's see how this'll end, shall we?" With that he swept past them, and disappeared behind the corner.

The three friends paced the common room, unable to think of anything but the safety of the Stone. They only left for dinner, afraid of what Snape might do if he saw them. But he was not there, and after they were done they went straight back to the common room. Once every other student had gone up to their dorms, Harry turned to his friends. "I'm going to go to the third-floor corridor now, to make sure Quirrell doesn't get there before Dumbledore returns. I can't trust Snape with something this important."

"You're mad!" said Ron.

"You can't!" said Hermione. "After what McGonagall and Snape have said? You'll be expelled!"

Harry lost his patience at that point and started shouting at his friends, who still seemed unable to grasp the seriousness of the situation. His words had the intended effect. Ron and Hermione both insisted they would be coming along.

Harry went up to his dorm to fetch his invisibility cloak. While he was there, he spotted the flute Hagrid had given him, and took it as well, to use it on Fluffy. Then he ran back down to the common room.

They were all set to leave, when Neville appeared from behind an armchair, clutching Trevor, who seemed to have tried to run away again.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Nothing, Neville, nothing," said Harry.

"You're going out again."

"No, no, no," said Hermione. "No, we're not. Why don't you go to bed, Neville?"

"You can't go out," said Neville, "you'll be caught again. Gryffindor will be in even more trouble."

"You don't understand," said Harry, "this is important."

Neville looked like he was steeling himself to do something desperate, but suddenly his expression changed, became more calculating. "Is this another of your rescue missions?"

"Yeah, you could say that," answered Harry, recalling their conversation the night they had received detention.

"Then I want to help." Neville looked scared, but determined.

"You don't understand, Neville. You'll be in so much trouble if you get caught. Snape threatened us with expulsion!" said Hermione.

"But whatever it is, you still think it's worth it. Isn't there anything you could use my help for?" Neville would not budge.

"Actually there is," said Harry before either of his friends could try to argue more.

"What?" asked a surprised Ron.

"Well, if we find _he's_ gone after _it,_ then I'm going after him. And if you two want to come along, we'll need someone to find Snape and let him know. Or, I mean, one of you could..."

"No," Ron said immediately.

"No, we're coming with you," Hermione agreed as well.

"So, would you?" Harry asked Neville.

"G-go find Snape now?"

"If – well, we're still hoping Fluffy managed to keep guard. But if not..."

"You don't have to, of course—" began Hermione.

"I'll do it," Neville decided at once.

They all nodded tensely at each other, sneaked under the invisibility cloak as best they could, and set off.

"Who's Fluffy?"

They successfully managed to resist the temptation to kick Mrs Norris, and Harry's ingenuous idea to pretend to be the Bloody Baron saved them from Peeves. But when they reached the third-floor corridor, they found the door was left ajar.

"Well, there you are," Harry said quietly. "Quirrell's already gone past Fluffy."

"Professor Quirrell? But what—" began Neville.

"There's no time to explain, Neville. You have to go and find Professor Snape as fast as you can, and tell him we've gone after Quirrell," Hermione told him.

"Please hurry," said Harry. "I don't know how long we can delay him."

Neville nodded, seeing how serious all three looked, and set off at a little bit of a jog.

The three friends pushed the door open, and went in.

It took all their skill to get past Fluffy, the Devil's Snare, the enchanted keys, the chessboard – where Ron had to sacrifice himself, and the puzzle – where Hermione had to go back, as there was not enough potion left for two people to pass through the black flames. In the end, it was Harry alone who entered the last chamber to face Quirrell.

Quirrell smiled when he saw Harry. "I wondered whether I'd be meeting you here, Potter," he said calmly.

"Your stutter is gone," Harry remarked.

Quirrell laughed, and it was not his usual quivering treble, either, but cold and sharp. "Yes, it is. Well spotted. It's been so annoying to keep up the charade of my former self. But I can't deny it's been useful. Who would suspect p-p-poor, st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell, meeker than ever after his unsuccessful attempt to see the world and come out of his shell?"

"But I thought... You didn't get hurt on your travels, did you? You aren't ill, or hurt, or dying, or anything!"

Harry could not take it. How could he ever have felt sorry for him?

Quirrell laughed again. "Is that what you thought? How charming. No, I didn't get _hurt,_ Potter. I was _saved._ "

"Becoming one of Voldemort's pawns? Doing his dirty work for him? That's what you call being 'saved'?"

"Don't speak of things you don't understand! Once I have procured the Stone for him, Lord Voldemort is going to share immortality with me. And if you think killing you is much of a moral dilemma for me, I must disappoint you. Oh, no. Lord Voldemort saved me, Potter, in ways you can not even imagine. You, though... No one is going to come to save you, I'm afraid."

Quirrell snapped his fingers. Ropes sprang out of thin air and wrapped themselves tightly around Harry.

"You're too nosy to live, Potter. How did you even come to suspect me? I was so sure you thought it was Snape. But you weren't even mildly surprised to see me."

"I did think it was Snape in the beginning. I even thought he was the one trying to curse me during the quidditch match. He seemed to hate me..."

"Oh, he does," said Quirrell casually, "heavens, yes. He was at Hogwarts with your father, didn't you know? They loathed each other. But he never wanted you dead."

"No. He cast the counter-curse, because even if he hates me, he's still a teacher, and acts like one. I overheard him talking to you, asking you where your loyalties lie—"

"Oh, that's how you figured out it was me. More nosiness. As for loyalties – Snape really should question his, rather than mine – he looks far too content with this dreadful teacher's life.

"Now, wait quietly, Potter. I need to examine this interesting mirror."

It was only then that Harry realized what was standing behind Quirrell. It was the Mirror of Erised.

"This mirror is the key to finding the Stone,"Quirrell murmured, tapping his way around the frame. "Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this... but he's in London... I'll be far away by the time he gets back..."

Quirrell came back out from behind the mirror and stared hungrily into it. "I see the Stone... I'm presenting it to my master... but where is it?"

Harry struggled against the ropes binding him, but they did not give. All he could think of doing was to keep Quirrell talking and stop him from concentrating on the mirror.

"And you're sure you know where your loyalties should lie? With a sociopathic would-be dictator?"

"Be quiet! I'll make you pay for being disrespectful—"

"I heard you a few days ago, sobbing – I did wonder who might have been threatening you..."

For the first time, a spasm of fear flitted across Quirrell's face. "Sometimes," he said, "I find it hard to follow my master's instructions – he is a great wizard and I am weak—"

"Was he there in the classroom with you?" asked Harry, though he knew he dreaded to know the answer.

What followed was a series of nightmares, starting with Quirrell's answer, followed by removing the turban and Voldemort – or rather, what was left of him – confronting Harry, and finally the fight for the Stone, Quirrell pinning him to the ground with his knees, trying to strangle him, and his horribly burnt face after Harry realised the power he held over him and grabbed for his face—

It was as Quirrell tried to throw Harry off, who held onto his arm with all his might, and Voldemort started shouting at his minion, "KILL HIM! KILL HIM!", that a new voice joined the chaos.

"Harry! Harry!" It was Dumbledore, sounding quite worried. "Let him go!" he commanded in a tone that brooked no argument.

Harry let go, unsure whether the comment referred to him or to Quirrell, but willing to go along with it in either case. He felt impossibly drained as he watched Dumbledore cast spells on Quirrell to incapacitate him. Then a vile, dark fragment of a shape seeped out of the younger wizard's body, who then collapsed.

"This was the last time you interfered, old man. You'll pay for this, and so much more," hissed the shadow-like apparition before it fled.

"Harry! Harry, are you all right?" There was actual fear in Dumbledore's voice.

Harry nodded. Dreadful as he felt, he could only imagine what he must look like. He tried standing up, but his knees gave out from under him.

"He's suffering from magical exhaustion," said Dumbledore, and for a moment Harry was not sure whom he was talking about.

Then he saw Snape crouch next to Quirrell's unmoving body. "He's not the only one."

Oh. So Dumbledore had been talking to Snape, not him. And he, Harry, was the one suffering from magical exhaustion. He supposed that made sense. It was a very odd sensation, he thought to himself curiously. Everything seemed to have slowed down, and even thinking seemed to require effort.

He did not know how he got to the hospital wing, and barely remembered being forced into bed by Madam Pomfrey and made to drink several unpleasant potions. But he spotted Ron in the bed next to his, and Hermione and Neville sitting on chairs between the beds, and he thought everything else would surely work out as long as they were all together, before sleep finally claimed him.


	9. Chapter 9

Harry woke up to hushed voices. Regaining consciousness happened slowly, in stages, and at first the spoken words blended with the remaining fragments of his dreams.

"You're wasting my time, Albus. I know what magical exhaustion looks like. So unless you're planning to question him, I don't see why my presence is required."

"Patience, Severus. The boy has been through quite enough tonight. There will be time enough to ask him what we cannot deduce later on. For now, I wanted us to check how the blood protection has fared."

Harry was awake enough at this point to recognise Professor Dumbledore's voice. He suddenly remembered all that had happened and quickly opened his eyes, ashamed to realise he must have nodded off. There was dim light coming in from the windows, announcing the arrival of the morning. He had slept for hours, he realised, without any sense that time had passed.

Not much else seemed to have changed, though. Ron was still sleeping in the bed next to his, and Hermione was curled up uncomfortably in a nearby chair, Harry's invisibility cloak only halfway covering her. Neville, at least, seemed to have left.

"What is this!" said Snape, his voice rising. "Why are they still here?" He gestured at Harry's friends.

Hermione shifted and woke at the noise, but before she could do more than stare panic-stricken at her professors, Madam Pomfrey joined them, wearing a thick robe over what Harry suspected were nightclothes.

"What is this commotion? There are recovering patients in here – Oh, Miss Granger. Didn't I tell you to leave?"

"I – Well, I-"

"Wha's goin' on?"Ron sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"My question exactly. What are you still doing here?" said Snape.

"Mr. Weasley insisted his head was still hurting him, so I allowed him to stay the night," said Madam Pomfrey sceptically.

"It's admirable that you both wished to stay near your friend but I think you better return to your dorm rooms now," said Professor Dumbledore kindly. "It's almost time to get up and you have been awake half the night."

Harry's friends were reluctant to leave, but without help from Dumbledore, they caved under Snape's glare.

"We're not going to stay here for long. I just need to cast a few spells on Mr. Potter, just to make sure we haven't missed anything," Professor Dumbledore told Madam Pomfrey. "He won't even be aware of anything," he added, to forestall any protests from her.

"All right then. But please make sure not to wake him. The poor boy could use some rest after all he's been through."

"Of course," said Dumbledore, as he walked with her to the door. He came over to Harry's bed as soon as Madam Pomfrey had left.

"So, Harry. How are you feeling now?" he asked, sounding nothing but kind and concerned.

Harry opened his eyes and caught sight of a surprised expression leaving Snape's face.

"Has anyone ever told you that eavesdropping can land you in sticky situations, Potter?"

"Severus, please remember what we came here for. We do not want to disturb Mr. Potter's rest for longer than necessary. I'm only going to cast a few diagnostic spells, Harry, and then we'll leave you to rest. Feel free to go back to sleep whenever you want. We'll make sure not to wake you."

"Oh, I'm not sleepy any more." Harry pushed himself higher up against the head of his bed to demonstrate.

Professor Dumbledore smiled. "I'm glad to see you're doing better, dear boy. For a moment, when I received Professor Snape's message, I thought all my worst fears had been realised." He began moving his wand in a complex pattern in Harry's vague direction, occasionally muttering fragments of spells Harry did not recognise.

"You were just in time, Professor. I tried my best to keep the Philosopher's Stone from Quirrel, but I don't think I would have lasted much longer..."

"I wasn't worried about the stone, Harry. I was worried about you. Severus' message reached me mid-air and I hurried to return, but I was so afraid I would be too late..."

"Hermione was going to send you an owl this afternoon, but then we, er..." Harry trailed off, remembering that they had reconsidered after talking to Snape who had promised to inform Professor Dumbledore himself. And who was now standing right in front of him. At least Harry had enough sense not to glance his way.

Snape shifted. "I sent you an owl, I'm afraid," he told the headmaster. "But of course it would have been unable to find you if you were..." The professors exchanged a look.

"Yes, of course we were warded against intruders," said Dumbledore, noticing Harry's curious expression. "I was flying to London with a Ministry official, Harry, and we were discussing confidential matters. A rather unfortunate thing to have done at this time. The patronus Professor Snape sent tonight was one of the few ways I could have been reached. It's a somewhat drastic way of communication – not the most subtle, certainly. But it made it easier for me to make a quick exit without seeming impolite. Then I apparated to the Leaky Cauldron and flooed to my office from there." The last part was directed more towards Snape than Harry, who only understood part of the explanation.

Silence fell in the room as Professor Dumbledore went back to casting spells and even pulled out one of his strange-looking instruments from somewhere within his robes and sat it down at the end of Harry's bed. It began whirring in confusing patterns, lulling Harry back to sleep. He looked away to stay alert, far more interested in satisfying his curiosity.

"Professor, what will happen to the Philosopher's Stone now?" he asked the headmaster.

"I see you will not be deterred from hearing the whole tale." Professor Dumbledore smiled. "I'll have to speak to its owner first, but I hope I can convince him that such an artefact is too dangerous, too easily misused and that it needs to be destroyed."

"Destroyed?" said Harry blankly. "But your friend – Nicolas Flamel-"

"Oh, you know about Nicolas?" said Dumbledore, sounding quite delighted. "You did do the thing properly, didn't you?"

"Unbelievable," muttered Snape in a far less complimentary tone.

"I'm going to have a chat with Nicolas. I believe I can convince him that it's for the best," the headmaster went on, not heeding Snape.

"But that means he and his wife will die, won't they?"

"They have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order and then, yes, they will die."

Dumbledore smiled at the look of amazement on Harry's face. "To one as young as you, I'm sure it seems incredible, but to Nicolas and Perenelle, it really is like going to bed after a very, very long day. After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure. You know, the Stone is really not such a wonderful thing. As much money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings would choose above all - the trouble is, humans do have a knack of choosing precisely those things that are worst for them."

"As you seem up to asking questions, Potter, maybe you could answer one of mine while we're on the topic," said Snape. "How did you come to suspect Quirrel and how did you know I did as well?" he went on before Dumbledore could interrupt him.

Harry considered pointing out that those were two questions, but Dumbledore forestalled him to say as much, adding, "There is no need to tire Mr. Potter out at this time by bombarding him with questions."

Harry decided he would rather answer Snape with Dumbledore present. "It's all right. I'm not that tired," he said. "It all began during my first quidditch match. Someone was cursing my broom."

"And you immediately suspected it was Quirrel, of course. That's how I ended up with burnt robes, I suppose," drawled Snape.

"Er... are you accusing me of something, Professor?"

"More likely one of your sidekicks. I can't prove it, of course-"

"And therefore we owe it to Mr. Potter and his friends to give them the benefit of the doubt," Dumbledore interrupted him, and it seemed to Harry this was not the first time the argument had come up. "And even supposing they did arrive at that erroneous conclusion, they cannot be faulted. Mr Potter's life was at stake. So, Harry, supposing you and your friends did initially suspect Professor Snape, how did you come to change your minds?"

"Er, well, you see, during the match – with so little time to think – and Professor Snape muttering and pointing his wand at me – er, _someone_ might have thought..."

"Of course," said Dumbledore with a twinkle in his eyes, while Snape glared.

"I was casting a counter-curse, Potter-"

"Well, yes. We figured that out later on. Someone must have been casting a counter-curse and none of us saw anyone else muttering. So we figured you could have been doing either."

"And what convinced you that Professor Snape was the one casting the counter-curse?" asked Dumbledore.

A moment of awkward silence fell, as all three of them were aware that Snape's hatred for Harry made him more than a little suspicious.

"Well." Harry cleared his throat and considered how best to answer. He thought it was probably best to mention eavesdropping as little as possible. "Er, well, the thing is, he's a professor – a teacher – Not the most glamorous – Not that there's anything wrong with being a teacher-"

"There's a whole host of things wrong with it. Now, get to the point," said Snape.

"Well, you've been a professor for a long time now. Hogwarts professors live here in the castle. This is their whole life-"

"Get to the point."

"Right. Right. Well, we just thought, why now? Why would a Hogwarts professor suddenly decide to steal the Philosopher's Stone? It's not an obvious plan, is it? It's dangerous and criminal. And it's not like the stone was here to begin with and would have given you ideas. We knew someone had tried to steal it from Gringotts this summer and that's why the stone came to be kept here at the castle."

"How did you learn about all these details-"

"Now, Severus, one question at a time, please," said Dumbledore with a barely suppressed smile. "Do go on, Harry."

"Er, yes. So, Professor Snape has taught here for many, many years now-"

"Not that many," said the surly potions master.

"Ron said you taught his oldest brother Bill, so that's at least-"

"Get. On. With. It."

"Right. So you've been a professor a while. So why now? Why decide you don't want this life any longer – And as we thought that, we realised you hadn't. You didn't seem like you were expecting to get away from all this any time soon. The way you get angry at everyone for every little thing – you're clearly here for the long haul. You expect to be here next year, and the year after, and so on, or all these little details wouldn't bother you so much.

"So we thought next: Who was new? It may seem a little unfair, but it makes sense, doesn't it?"

"It does, indeed. Quirrel only applied for the teaching post after his failed attempt to steal the Philosopher's Stone from Gringotts. Well considered, Harry," said Dumbledore.

"Actually, it was Ron who first thought that Snape – Er, I mean, _Professor_ Snape-" he corrected as soon as he saw the glare on the potions master's face, "acted far too much like his usual self. He would know best, of course, what with all his older brothers. And then Hermione did all her logical conclusions, and wrote whole lists of arguments. Oh, actually, it was Dudders who first made us suspicious-"

"Who?" asked Snape.

"Oh, that's my cousin, Dudley. He wrote something in one of his letters. The first suspect is never guilty in a whodunnit, because that would be boring, is I think what he wrote. Not that it would have been boring if you had tried to steal-" Harry began to amend his words at Snape's scowl, only to be interrupted.

"Your muggle cousin?"

Harry bristled. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"I'm merely surprised. I didn't think you would keep correspondence with your muggle family."

Harry hesitated, unsure how to answer. It was true, he did not like (most of) his muggle family. On the other hand, a Slytherin assuming that would be the case made him want to contradict him.

"We heard about Hagrid's meeting with your family, Harry," Dumbledore said quietly, as an explanation. "I'm glad to hear that he misinterpreted the situation after all."

"No, it's – it's just my cousin, Professor. My aunt and uncle – well, if Hagrid told you all about them, then you know how things are with them."

"I see," the headmaster said gravely.

The instrument placed at the end of Harry's bed stopped whirring at that moment and Snape walked over to pick it up.

"Albus, do you want me to leave this in your office?" he asked, already turning to leave.

"Yes, thank you, Severus. Actually, unless Mr Potter has any more questions-" He began to rise.

"I-"

"Yes, Harry?"

"I wanted to ask – Professor, what happened to Quirrel?" Harry asked the question he needed to know – and dreaded – the answer to the most.

Dumbledore sat back down with a sigh. "Quirrel, yes. Another unfortunate soul who succumbed to the lure of power. Once he began to weaken, Voldemort abandoned him, leaving him burnt, unconscious and suffering from magical exhaustion-"

Harry noticed Snape twitch at the mention of Voldemort's name.

"It is not entirely clear how badly he was hurt, I'm afraid. He still lives, but has remained unresponsive so far," the headmaster went on. "Such a shame. Such a waste of talent. He used to be a very bright young man, a consummate Ravenclaw – or so I thought. That he would abandon his good sense for Voldemort's empty promises-"

"His magical core is most likely badly damaged. If he wakes up at all, he'll face a lifetime of either Azkaban or St. Mungo's. Either way, he won't cause any more trouble," said Snape in a way that ended the topic. Harry suspected it was so he would no longer have to hear the name Voldemort spoken aloud.

"He was a Ravenclaw?" Harry asked a heartbeat later, too surprised to let it go.

Snape's face darkened. "What, did you think being a Slytherin was a requirement for joining the dark lord's ranks? Or automatically granted you access to his ranks? How very disappointing it must be for you, Potter, to have your prejudices so contradicted."

"I – I don't-"

"Severus, he's just repeating what he's heard." Dumbledore said.

"From you, at this moment. 'A consummate Ravenclaw', indeed."

"Severus-"

But Snape shook his head and turned towards the door again. "Never mind. See me after you're done here," he said over his shoulder while he walked out the door.

"I don't think that! I asked _him_ for help, didn't I?" complained Harry. "If anyone is prejudiced, it's the Slytherins. Always suspecting everyone _else_ has the worst intentions," he added softly.

This led to Harry asking about some more things Quirrel and Voldemort had told him, beginning with whether Snape really hated him because he used to hate his father.

It was while Dumbledore was explaining how he had hidden the stone inside the mirror that they were interrupted by Hedwig tapping at one of the large hospital windows. Once let in, she flew rather frantically to Harry and dropped a letter in his lap. It was from Dudley. Harry read through it quickly.

"It's from my cousin," Harry began to explain, noticing Dumbledore's curious look.

"A little early in the morning for a letter, isn't it? Is everything all right?"

"Oh, yeah, he's fine. It's because I wrote him yesterday, and told him what was going on. Hm. He's telling me to tell a teacher and not to go after Quirrel on my own." Harry rolled his eyes. "Bit late for that."

"Your cousin was concerned."

"He was, yes," Harry agreed, surprised.

Dumbledore sat back in thought, stroking his beard. "Harry, how would you like a visit from your cousin?" he asked a moment later.

"What?"

"We don't usually have muggle visitors. With so many muggle repelling wards it tends to be a little tricky. After all, they can't even see Hogwarts from the outside. But family should be allowed to visit a student we allowed to get hurt as badly as you did."

The headmaster chuckled at Harry's amazed look and then left him alone to recuperate and consider all the possibilities Dudley's visit entailed.

The rest of Friday was a day of visits for Harry. His friends came to visit as soon as their classes were finished. They filled each other in on the events of the night before. Harry went first, as he had a lot more to tell and then Hermione told him how she had gone back to Ron and how Dumbledore and Snape had found them while she was still trying to bring him round.

"They went after you as soon as I was awake. We went back and found Neville waiting at the entrance. He looked really scared – not sure how he managed to keep himself from passing out long enough to tell Snape what had happened," Ron finished the tale.

Harry's friends spent the rest of the afternoon with him, despite Madam Pomfrey's initial objections. They talked and played chess, but the matron drew the line at exploding snap. They also began to plan Dudley's visit.

Presents began to arrive for Harry. The events of the night before were supposed to be a secret, but it seemed the whole school knew. Quite a lot of sweets and get well cards arrived over the course of the day. There was even a hilarious moment when Ron's twin brothers, George and Fred, tried to smuggle in a toilet seat. Unfortunately, Madam Pomfrey caught them and confiscated it.

Later that evening, after Ron and Hermione had left, Harry had another visitor. Hagrid came to apologise to Harry for telling Quirrel how to get past Fluffy and to tell him he was working on a little something to cheer him up. This time, Hagrid managed to keep a secret and Harry was left curious about what sort of present to expect.

~HP~

Saturday morning, Smeltings had a most curious visitor. He was a tall old man with long hair and beard, dressed in a brightly coloured suit and wearing half-moon spectacles. He should have caught everyone's attention, yet Dudley was the only one who seemed to notice what a strange appearance he was. They looked at each other across the courtyard, the stranger and the all too ordinary-looking boy. Then the old man walked over towards him.

"Ah, you must be Mr. Dursley," he addressed the boy directly. Still no one paid them any attention.

"Are – are you a wizard?" Dudley asked meekly.

"Why, yes, I am! Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts, at your service."

The headmaster. Dudley's imagination ran wild, thinking of the scenarios involving Harry that might have warranted the headmaster's visit to Dudley. The old man's cheerful demeanour seemed at odds with such possibilities, though.

"Is Harry all right?" Dudley asked, and was surprised at himself how fearful he sounded.

"He is. Please don't worry. I didn't mean to frighten you." Dumbledore turned serious. "However, I'm afraid your cousin did get hurt Thursday night and had to spend yesterday in the school's hospital wing. I believe you know some of what he was involved in. The rest he can tell you once you see him, assuming you agree to visit him."

"Visit him? Where?"

"At Hogwarts," Dumbledore answered calmly, as if it was the most mundane thing, to be invited to a magical school.

"N-now?"

"If you agree. I'll have to talk to your headmaster, but I'm certain I can convince him," the wizard said with a twinkle.

Dudley had no doubt of that. A quick look around confirmed that people were still ignoring them.

"Are you using a notice-me-not charm?" he asked instead of giving his decision. He could not quite wrap his head around the possibility yet. Seeing his cousin again was scary enough, but being among so many magical people was an idea that was beyond his powers of imagination.

"Oh, very good. You are surprisingly well informed. I'm gratified to meet a non-magical child who, instead of being afraid of magic, shows such acceptance and curiosity. To answer your question, I'm using several, slightly more powerful wards, but one of them is quite similar to the notice-me-not charm."

Dudley nodded. The unexpected praise, though not entirely deserved, flattered him and gave him a burst of courage. Suddenly the thought of actually getting to see Hogwarts sounded exciting, rather than frightening. "Yes," he said before he could reconsider. "I want to visit Harry." His heart was beating a mile a minute, but he would not let this opportunity pass.

"Very well, then. Let's see if we can convince your headmaster to let you leave the school for the day." To emphasize his words, Dumbledore pulled the top of his wand from his pocket.

"Can you make sure my parents don't hear about this?" asked Dudley, not allowing fear to take hold of him.

Dumbledore gave him a sad look, but all he said was, "Of course."

Smeltings' headmaster was easy enough to convince with the help of magic. Next, Dudley was told to hold on to the wizard's arm and the world around him dissolved, then reformed in a deserted landscape. He almost threw up and needed to recover before they could go on. Dudley almost began to fear this might have been an elaborate prank when he was told they needed to 'walk towards the castle', but Dumbledore suddenly remembered the wards. He merely waved his hand.

Hogwarts, majestic and mysterious, suddenly appeared in front of Dudley. He had arrived in the magical world.


	10. Chapter 10

Saturday, early in the morning, Madam Pomfrey was telling Ron and Hermione off for invading the hospital wing and interrupting Harry's rest when the door opened and another visitor was brought in by Dumbledore himself.

Dudley trailed behind the headmaster, gawking at everything. He had halfway crossed the room when his eyes met Harry's. The cousins stared at each other for a heartbeat.

"Oh. Hi, Dudley," Harry said a little awkwardly.

"Hi," was all Dudley could say in response.

Dumbledore walked over towards Harry's bed and Dudley automatically followed him, as he had all the way there. "Hello, Harry," the old wizard greeted cheerfully. "How are you this morning?"

"All better, thanks. I was about to ask Madam Pomfrey to release me." He turned expectant eyes to the matron.

Madam Pomfrey insisted on giving him a thorough examination but finally conceded that he seemed mostly recovered. With repeated warnings to take it easy, Harry was finally released from the hospital wing.

"I'll take my leave of you now. Please make sure to be in the Great Hall at dinner time, Mr. Dursley, so I can take you back to your school. Have an enjoyable stay here at Hogwarts until then." With that, Dumbledore left.

The four adolescents glanced awkwardly at each other. Then Harry cleared his throat and began the introductions, unnecessary though they were. But he just needed the excuse to have something to say.

He had not anticipated what meeting Dudley again would be like. Harry's relationship with his cousin had undergone two major changes in the time they had been apart. For one, he was now no longer friendless and defenceless. For another, he had built a sort of pen friendship with Dudley. The question remained, however, whether that would translate into an actual friendship now that they had met again.

It was fortunate that Harry's two friends were with him. Neither cousin knew how to relate to the other any more and their meeting would have been very awkward if not for Hermione and Ron, who managed to keep up a conversation with everyone.

It was time for breakfast, which was a good place to start. They all went to the Great Hall, while Hermione explained interesting details about Hogwarts to an awed Dudley. All the things that had first astonished Harry – the moving staircases, the animated portraits, ghosts and poltergeists – and now seemed fairly common to him, took on a renewed sense of wonder seen through Dudley's eyes.

After a year of seeing the same faces, someone new was bound to get noticed right away. Everyone's eyes were on Harry and his cousin before they had even sat down at the table.

"Oh, this is my cousin, Dudley. He's visiting me because I landed myself in the hospital wing Thursday night."

Instead of clearing things up, Harry's explanation only generated more interest. He was immediately bombarded with questions about his adventure Thursday night. While he tried to come up with answers, people also began asking questions about Dudley and suddenly interest switched to him.

"Your cousin? But I thought you lived with muggles?"

"A muggle? Really? How come he's at Hogwarts, then?"

"A muggle school? What do they teach there?"

There was nothing offensive about those questions, but Harry still found them a little rude. He began to wonder how long it would take Dudley to lose his fear and become rude in turn. His cousin might have grown a bit over the year, but Harry doubted he had changed quite that much. For the moment, at least, he still looked too intimidated to do more than glare.

"It's pretty cool that you get to visit Hogwarts," Dean Thomas then spoke to Dudley directly. "No offence, Harry. Didn't mean that it's cool that you got hurt. I just wish my sisters could visit," he added wistfully.

"Are they like – like-" Dudley spoke for the first time, but stopped midway through, not quite sure how to phrase his question.

"Are they muggles, too?" Harry asked in his stead.

"Yeah, both of them. They're younger than me – not old enough for Hogwarts yet, but they've never done any magic. Well, they're my half-sisters – we have different dads – which would make sense if I got magic from my dad."

"Our mums – Harry's and mine – were full sisters, but my mum still isn't magic," said Dudley.

"Yeah, that can happen, too. Hey, how come only you're visiting? What about your parents?"

Harry exchanged a dismayed look with his cousin, both unsure how to explain that, but thankfully, Dumbledore called everyone's attention at that moment to say a few words about the events of Thursday night. He told them that Quirrel had been trying to steal a valuable object that had been kept in the third-floor corridor but that Harry, Hermione and Ron had confronted him and stopped him – but not without getting hurt. He also told the students about how Neville had warned the professors to come to their students' aid.

Dumbledore then briefly – vaguely – described the scene he had found. He did say he suspected the – clearly malevolent – being that had been possessing Quirrel was what remained of Voldemort, but he did not mention what the valuable object was throughout his explanation.

The speech was followed by a promise that the students involved would receive an 'appropriate reward' during the end of year feast. This was followed by cheers all around the Gryffindor table.

That was when Harry caught Snape's eye and became aware that Snape's feelings towards him had not changed one jot. He almost felt something like regret, to his surprise.

Then the questions began once again. With the little hints Dumbledore had given about their confrontation with Quirrel, everyone was curious to know more. Neville was the first to crack, only too willing to bask in the attention. He told how he had been unable to sleep and had therefore still been in the common room when the trio sneaked out. Everyone was impressed at his bravery for deciding on the spot to go along and help them, especially when he told them that he had been asked to report to Snape.

Everyone was surprised at the request, but Hermione and Ron – with Dudley filling in some details now and then – took up the tale and described how they had first suspected him, but later came to realise that he was actually the most opposed to Quirrel. Harry's sense of regret intensified.

The questioning had one unexpected benefit. The Gryffindors took note of how well Dudley seemed to be informed about Harry's life at Hogwarts, how many details about the goings-on of the past year he knew, and began regarding him with more respect.

After breakfast, before Harry and his friends had got up to leave, Oliver Wood came over to where they were sitting.

"Ready, Harry?" he asked.

"Er, ready for what?" Harry began to say, only to remember midway through the sentence.

Wood scowled. "The match, of course! We're playing against Ravenclaw in less than an hour!"

Before Harry could respond, Professor McGonagall was standing next to them, having rushed over as soon as she spotted Oliver walking towards Harry. "He's not going to play, Mr. Wood. I'm astonished at you for even suggesting such a thing! After all that Mr. Potter has been through-"

"But, Professor-"

"I don't want to hear it! Mr. Potter, please pay him no mind. You're in no condition to play quidditch. If it were up to Madam Pomfrey, you would still be in the hospital wing. Look at the positive side: for once you'll be able to watch the Gryffindor team play." She looked at Harry as if she wanted to say more, but then looked around at all the students surrounding them, and reconsidered. She just nodded at him, and left.

"A lovely match it will be, too, if we're playing without a seeker. You'll get to see us properly trounced," grumbled Wood, but then he left without trying to convince Harry to play.

"Harry, don't even think about it," Hermione spoke before everyone else.

"Relax, Hermione. He knows if he feels up to it or not," said Ron. "And if you don't, everyone will understand," he added quickly, turning towards Harry.

"I don't know. I do still feel kind of sore."

Ron's face fell, but he tried to mask his disappointment. "Well, come on, then. Let's find some good seats. McGonagall's right. This is the first time you'll be watching our team play, so better make the best of it."

"Is this the same sport you were playing when Quirrel cursed you?" asked Dudley.

"Yes. But with Quirrel gone, it'll be safe-" said Ron.

"Or as safe as quidditch gets," finished Hermione.

"You know, Dumbledore picked a good day for your visit. You'll get to see one of the most important things in the magical world-"

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"Quidditch is very exciting to watch. It's played on broomsticks, and there are four balls. Not just one like in that muggle sport – er-"

"Football?" Dudley guessed.

"Er, yes. Now, you may think that's the best sport there is-"

"Actually, I don't much care for sports."

"No? Well, you'll like this one, I'm sure. Everyone loves quidditch."

Hermione almost protested at that point, but reconsidered, shaking her head fondly. Ron continued to talk about quidditch while they showed Dudley some of the Hogwarts grounds before making their way slowly towards the quidditch pitch.

For all that he was sorry to watch his team lose, Harry was almost looking forward to sitting down with his friends and cousin to watch the two house teams' performance. However, before they had reached the stands around the quidditch pitch, Draco Malfoy and his two sidekicks spotted them, who were also walking in that direction, not far away from them.

"Make way for the invalid!" he announced dramatically. "How can you expect him to play quidditch, can't you see he can barely walk?" he loudly asked his friends while gesturing at Harry. A few people around him turned to listen and some even laughed in agreement, including his two sidekicks.

"Get lost, Malfoy!" said Ron, unable to resist the taunting. "He could still wipe the floor with you, if he wanted to!"

"Ron, let it go-" began Harry, uncomfortable with the attention they were drawing from the people walking to the quidditch pitch.

"Yes, Weasley, listen to him. We both know his winning streak is over. Next year, when they finally let me play, you'll see how a real seeker plays. You know, someone who wants to win, not just get more attention." With that, he walked off, looking smug.

The worst part was that the people standing around had begun to look like they agreed with his assessment, shooting speculative glances at Harry. He even caught fragments of a few conversations, questioning whether he was really feeling ill enough to abandon his team.

"On second thought, I'm feeling a lot better," said Harry as soon as people around them had dispersed.

Seeing his determined look, Hermione did not argue. "But, Harry, please be careful," was all she said.

Dudley, Ron and Hermione climbed the stairs up to their seats and from there they saw Harry walk over to the tense looking group of Gryffindor quidditch players, saw him speak a few words to Oliver Wood, and then saw the whole team break into cheers.

They procured Harry's quidditch robes from somewhere, but because there was no time, he had to change right there, to his embarrassment. Thankfully, most people were unaware of what was happening until Madam Hooch threw the quaffle in the air and the players left the ground.

"Oh, wow," said Dudley, unable to hide his awe.

"It's pretty awesome, isn't it?" said Ron, pleased.

Dudley nodded, staring open-mouthed at the players whizzing around in the air. He could not really tell what was happening and the disjointed commentary from what seemed to be a student called Jordan was not overly helpful. One of the professors seemed to be trying to take the microphone from him to interrupt the match to announce something, but Jordan was holding on to it valiantly.

Finally, Dudley identified Harry, who was flying in large circles around the arena, out of everyone's way. Once in a while, one of the two smaller balls would sail close by him, but one of the red-haired players was usually nearby to keep his cousin safe.

"What's Harry doing?" Dudley asked.

This was followed by a long explanation from everyone around him, especially Ron, but also from some of those students his cousin had only briefly mentioned in his letters. It all felt almost unreal. Suddenly all those bizarre and entertaining stories from Harry, that had almost read like fairy tales, became real. The magical people mentioned in those letters became real, friendly teenagers his age.

Then Harry dived suddenly and the whole arena exploded in noise, which impossibly got even louder when he pulled up sharply with something small and shiny in his fist.

"Yes, yes, he did it! He did it again! Take that, Malfoy!" Ron was shouting next to him. After having met Malfoy, Dudley could understand that.

After the match, Hermione and Ron got up quickly from their seats and urged Dudley to go. When he asked, all they said was that they were going to meet Harry. As far as Dudley could see, that was bound to be a little troublesome, with the crowd of people who had gathered around Harry and the teachers trying to get to him.

However, once down from their seats, they did not head over to the crowd of people, where Dudley had last glimpsed his cousin. Instead, they headed straight for Hogwarts.

"What's going on?" he finally asked.

"Harry said he'd meet us inside, don't you remember?" Hermione answered impatiently.

Dudley was not entirely sure he did, and the confusion on his face showed it.

"He doesn't want to deal with McGonagall. Not after she told him just this morning not to play," Ron explained. "And then spent the entire match trying to get Lee Jordan to announce the end of the match..."

They caught up with Harry just outside the Great Hall and followed him in. There were very few people scattered across the length of the tables – the odd student who either had not felt like watching the match, or had hurried back on their own, like them. They walked towards the Gryffindor table, while Hermione and Ron both congratulated Harry and Hermione hugged him while Ron patted his shoulder.

Perversely enough, that was the moment Dudley first felt jealous of his cousin that day. Of course there was a small part of him that would always be jealous of Harry's magic. In the surroundings, though, magic was such an ordinary thing, there was no reason to be jealous of his cousin in particular. But having friends like those – friends who could communicate plans with one short sentence, who shared private meetings and always stood together – that was almost more than Dudley could bear.

They were suddenly interrupted by retching and gagging sounds. Draco Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, had entered the hall as well, and they had to make their presence known.

"Ugh, what does he want this time," grumbled Harry, and the weary tone finally made Dudley notice how tired he looked.

His friends, of course, had already been aware of that and subtly stepped in front of him, almost shielding him from the Slytherins.

"Yes, congratulations, Potter. Excellent idea, to disappear when everyone was looking for you. Now you're guaranteed to be the centre of attention for the rest of the school year," said Malfoy.

"You think, of the two of us, I want more attention?" Harry replied, beginning to lose his calm.

"You don't?" Malfoy pretended to be surprised. "You break rules to get attention, lose points, find you don't like being unpopular, then come up with that over the top plan to get noticed, while getting that poor foolish teacher fired – not much of a loss, but really, how biased can Dumbledore get, promising to reward you for it?

"Next, you pretend to be too hurt to play – when you know your team will lose for sure if you don't – but then you end up playing after all – making sure no one knows until the very last minute, so it'll be a proper surprise. Did I miss anything out?"

"Have you lost your mind?" Ron said indignantly. "Harry almost died trying to protect-"

"Ron, enough! Malfoy, you're just mad that Harry played after all and won the Quidditch Cup – which would have gone to Slytherin otherwise. And best of all, he did that because of your taunting," said Hermione.

"Oh, don't pretend that wasn't his plan all along. He would never have missed the chance to show off-"

"You know, you sound really jealous of how popular Harry is," Dudley said unexpectedly, arms crossed in front of his chest and no longer looking intimidated.

"Look, the pet muggle has spoken!" said Draco, causing Crabbe and Goyle to cackle loudly.

"What did you call me?" Dudley said as soon as the words registered, making fists and even taking a step towards the other blond boy.

Harry was suddenly reminded of his initial assessment that Draco was a lot like his cousin.

Draco looked scared for a moment, being faced with someone who was even larger than Goyle, but he quickly switched to anger. His wand was out in an instant, halting Dudley's steps. "Really, Potter, it's enough that you sully Hogwarts with your muggle relatives. Keep him in check, or I will."

"By cursing him?" said Harry. "For talking to you?" But despite his dismissive tone, he stepped forward to shield a now no longer so brave looking Dudley.

"He dared to threaten me. Me – a wizard. Your stupid oaf of a muggle cousin – how you can show him off – I'd die of shame if I were related to him-"

"Shut up!" growled Dudley.

"Now do you see? He's asking for it." Malfoy raised his wand and pointed it at Dudley.

Harry and his friends drew theirs at that point.

"He grunts and growls like the oaf he is-" Malfoy began to continue his insults, but Dudley had reached the end of his patience.

The fist landed in the middle of Malfoy's face and he went down. Unfortunately, he did not stay that way for long. Crabbe helped him up, while Goyle cracked his knuckles.

"You shouldn't have done that," he said and went for Dudley, who was barely even larger and did not look nearly as mean.

Harry was not sure if Snape and McGonagall entering the Great Hall just as Hermione cast a leg-locker curse at Goyle, Ron blocked Crabbe's path and he pointed his wand at Malfoy was a blessing or a curse. He could not help but wish they had chosen a slightly more convenient time.

Harry had to admit, it did not look good for them. There was an unmistakeable bruise developing on Malfoy's face. He, Hermione and Ron did their best to recount the events truthfully, but the Slytherins felt no shame in twisting the story as they liked. McGonagall was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt, but the more she tried to defend them, the more set Snape became in his opinion that the Gryffindors were to blame.

Then another voice joined the discussion. Dumbledore walked in, together with a group of the other teachers, and some of the students who had decided to continue rehashing the match inside.

"Now what seems to be the problem here?" he asked pleasantly.

Harry's heart did a somersault. The headmaster would be fair and not so easily fooled. Things might still work out, he thought.

Dumbledore bid them all to follow him outside, to discuss everything away from an audience, and to give them all a moment to cool down. He questioned them all – and they all had either too much respect or fear to argue unnecessarily with him.

He decided there was no evidence to blame the Slytherins and dismissed them. Maalfoy would not go quietly, of course. He once again claimed Harry had done all that to get more attention and that he should get punished for attacking him.

The discussion did not end there of course. Snape wanted to see the Gryffindor students punished but it looked like Dumbledore did not want to do that. Snape finally lost his patience and insisted everyone was biased against Slytherins. He accused Dumbledore of giving Harry special treatment – and would not listen to McGonagall who, contrary to her usual strictness, claimed Harry was entitled to some special treatment after recent events. Finally, he even said that Dumbledore did not even intend to dock points so the House Cup would go to Gryffindor. Then suddenly Dudley spoke up.

"It was me. I punched that boy first," he said quietly. Even with everyone's attention on him, his courage did not fail and he went on in a firm voice. "I'm sorry, but he kept calling me names – because I'm not a wizard, and so on-" McGonagall drew a sharp breath at that. "But Harry and his friends didn't do anything wrong. They just tried to save me from getting attacked after I did that.

"You keep saying these things about Harry – that he wants attention and that he's biased and holds grudges, but none of that is true." Dudley stopped for a moment, to collect his courage, and then recounted briefly how Harry had written to him and sent him a present over Christmas even though he had bullied his cousin all their childhood and how they had become friends after that.

Snape's face twisted like he had swallowed something bitter. He looked away, but when his eyes landed back on Harry, there was something reassessing about the way he regarded his least favourite student.

"You would try to – want to – befriend someone who used to bully you?" he asked disbelievingly.

Harry shrugged. "Everyone deserves a second chance. I don't want any enemies," he tried to explain badly.

Dumbledore, however, looked deeply thoughtful at his reply. He stroked his beard in quiet contemplation, before making a decision. "I do not believe Mr. Potter and his friends can be held accountable for Mr. Dursley's behaviour – who had strong justification for what he did. Do not misunderstand me. We do not condone violence here, no matter the incentive. I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to apologise to Mr. Malfoy this evening at dinnertime before we leave, Mr. Dursley."

Dudley nodded meekly. Snape was about to say more, but only nodded shortly and left. Dumbledore then guided McGonagall away, leaving the teenagers alone.

"I'm sorry I got you in trouble," Dudley said as soon as they had left.

"Don't worry about it. Malfoy deserved it, and it was such a lovely sight, when he went down," Harry reassured him.

Ron and Hermione wanted to go to Hagrid's hut. They usually did that after quidditch matches, and especially with the sort of unfortunate attention their fight had drawn, going back to the Great Hall did not sound appealing.

"Harry," said Dudley, then frowned at how scared he sounded and cleared his throat. He had the full attention of the three friends. "This – Hagrid – person, is that...?" he asked as casually as he could, but his voice still trailed off at the end.

"Er, yeah," Harry answered after a moment's hesitation. "Yeah, he was the one who, er, who brought me my letter."

"Oh, don't worry," Hermione said impatiently, when she noticed Dudley slowing down. "He's not going to jinx you again. He shouldn't have done so in the first place. Using magic on muggles isn't even allowed. Come on. Hagrid is really nice, actually. You must have misunderstood something, I think. He'd never do something to frighten you."

Dudley found himself thus bullied along to Hagrid's hut. He was not convinced that what she said was right, but could not bring himself to appear too cowardly in front of a girl – even if she happened to be a witch, on top of being bossy and rather intimidating.

Hagrid opened the door as soon as they knocked. "There you are. I was beginnin' to think you weren't goin' to visit today at all," he said.

"Er, yeah, we did manage to get in trouble. First, we decided to lay low after the match because I wasn't supposed to play..."

"You won't get into trouble fer that! McGonagall was just worried you'd get hurt. Again. But you had to prove them all wrong. Blimey, Harry, I'd never've thought – I thought I was set to watch one sorry game."

Harry glowed under the praise and smiled, but even that could not disguise how wretchedly tired he looked. Hagrid rushed them inside to get them seated and served them tea and finally noticed Dudley who had been trying to hide behind Ron and Hermione – as much as that was possible.

"Hello there," he said cautiously.

"H-hi," Dudley replied meekly.

"Dumbledore said he'd bring you to visit Harry. Didn' think he'd be all that happy ter see you, but..." Hagrid trailed off, seeing the faces of Harry and his friends, ready to defend Dudley.

"Dudley's all right," said Harry, quietly, but with conviction. "And he's also changed a lot over the year. He's grown up quite a bit, I think."

"Er, thanks, Harry." The cousins actually smiled at each other.

"Well, blimey, why didn't you say so?" said Hagrid. "Here, sit down, have a cuppa."

With that, Dudley was also settled with a cup of tea and slowly began to relax.

Hagrid stroked his beard, as if trying to figure something out, then turned back to Dudley. "Changed over the year, did yeh?" he asked shrewdly. "Did yeh go to a boardin' school, then?"

Dudley nodded.

"Thought you must've. Fat chance of changin' into somethin' decent, living with that pair..." Hagrid mumbled under his breath, but his guests all heard.

Dudley almost said something in his parents' defence, but his courage failed him. He looked down.

"Ah, didn't mean it like that," Hagrid said with a raised voice, now feeling guilty for hurting him. "Not too fond of yer parents, but yeh know that – S'matter o' fact, I was trying to curse yer Dad that day, jus' missed an' hit you instead. You know why, too. They let Harry believe—"

"I know. They can be wrong, about – stuff," Dudley said quietly.

"That's not an easy thing to understand – at yer age. But enough sad stuff." He got up, and began to rummage in the one cupboard in his room. "Aha! There it is! Bin' meanin' to give you this all day, Harry, for – fer the other stupid thing I did."

"Hagrid you didn't..." Harry began, but trailed off as a handsome, leather-bound book was laid in front of him. Harry opened it curiously. It was full of wizarding photographs. Smiling and waving at him from every page were his mother and father.

"Sent owls ter all yer parents' old school friends, askin' fer photos... knew yeh didn' have any... d'yeh like it?"

Harry could not speak, but Hagrid understood.

His friends gave him some time alone, to get acquainted with his present, before they wanted to have a look as well. Finally, Dudley also joined them.

"Your mum didn't look much like mine," he said, after looking through some photographs (and getting over the fact that they moved).

Hagrid snorted and began to say something, but reconsidered.

They walked back to the castle in time for dinner. The time for Dudley to say goodbye drew near. All in all, it had been an unforgettable day, he thought while they walked. He could not remember ever feeling so peaceful, so content, so – so happy. He slowed down.

"Harry," he almost whispered.

The others slowed as well.

"Hmm, what is?"

"What are we going to do when we go home?"

Harry stopped, looked up at the still sunlit sky. "I don't know. But now that I've met you, I believe it'll be all right." And he smiled.

Dudley would not let anything stop him from enjoying the rest of his time at Hogwarts after that. He was at his politest when he was made to apologise to Malfoy, and quite enjoyed the other boy's fury when he was told he also needed to apologise for his anti-muggle comments.

Dinner was eaten and properly appreciated, and then it was finally time to say goodbye. Dudley shook hands with Harry and both his friends, and then followed Dumbledore back to his school.

He could not wait to see Harry again.


	11. Chapter 11

Monday evening, Harry went together with Hermione and Ron to the end-of-year feast. Despite arriving well before it was scheduled to begin, the Great Hall was already full. It was decked out in the Slytherin colours of green and silver to celebrate Slytherin winning the house cup for the seventh year in a row. A huge banner showing the Slytherin Serpent covered the wall behind the High Table.

Most of the professors had not arrived yet and the students, left alone, were making quite a racket. One had to almost shout to be heard a few seats down the table. Harry slipped in a seat between Hermione and Ron at the Gryffindor table, already excited for the feast.

Not long after, the professors arrived, headed by Dumbledore. The babble died away.

"Another year gone!" Dumbledore said cheerfully. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were... you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts...

"Now, as I understand it, the house cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two points; in third, Gryffindor, with three hundred and sixty-two; Ravenclaw has three hundred and seventy-six and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy- two."

A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Slytherin table. Harry could see Draco Malfoy banging his goblet on the table. It was a sickening sight.

"Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin," said Dumbledore. "However, before we proceed with the celebration, I have some last-minute points to dish out."

The room went very still. The Slytherins' smiles faded a little.

"Ahem," said Dumbledore. "Let me see. Yes...

"As I mentioned on Saturday, several students' participation in recent events deserves a reward, however small an acknowledgement of their bravery it might be.

"There are all kinds of courage," said Dumbledore, smiling. "It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but it can be equally daunting to stand up to authority figures in order to protect our friends. I therefore award fifty points to Mr. Neville Longbottom."

This was followed by loud cheering from the Gryffindor table, especially from those who realised that the additional points now put them in second place, a mere sixty points behind Slytherin. Neville, white with shock, disappeared under a pile of people hugging him. He had never before earned a single point and was so overwhelmed at that point that he burst into tears.

Dumbledore smiled again and raised his hands. The room gradually fell silent again.

"I do not wish to raise any undue hopes," he went on and the Great Hall went very still. "I will say that for a while, I did consider rewarding the other students involved with House points as well. However, on further reflection, that seemed insufficient. Points are awarded to students for participating in school life, to encourage them in beneficial pursuits – and discourage at least _some_ rule-breaking." He nodded towards the Weasley twins, who made a show of feeling honoured.

"But how can we use points to encourage students to go so far beyond their duty? No student can be expected – or encouraged – to render the sort of outstanding service to this school and all its inhabitants as those three students demonstrated only a few days ago-"

Gryffindor cheers rang from all sides, interrupting the headmaster. He raised his hands again and waited for the noise to dim.

"Whatever their exact reasons may have been, it was not for house points that Mr. Weasley demonstrated the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, or Miss Granger showed the use of cool logic in the face of fire and it certainly does not account for Mr. Potter's pure nerve and outstanding courage.

"I discussed how to reward them with the board of governors and we have – almost unanimously – decided to give them an Award for Special Services to the School-"

The din was deafening, as even students from other houses began to cheer and applaud, interrupting Dumbledore once again. Percy could be heard telling the other prefects, "My brother, you know! My youngest brother! Got past McGonagall's giant chess set!" Hermione, meanwhile, buried her face in her arms; Harry strongly suspected she had burst into tears. Harry, Ron and Hermione were encouraged from the surrounding students to stand up while being applauded from all sides.

"And here it is," Dumbledore called over the storm of applause, presenting a shield-shaped award. "This will be given its deserved place in the trophy room tomorrow morning."

The applause got even louder, with some students actually getting up to give them a standing ovation.

It was the best evening of Harry's life, better than winning at quidditch, or knocking out mountain trolls, or potentially winning the House Cup...

The feast continued. Slytherin received the House Cup, while McGonagall shook Snape's hand with a resigned smile. For a moment, Harry let himself consider what it would have been like, had Dumbledore decided to reward them with house points. The Great Hall decorated in Gryffindor colours, watching Snape having to congratulate McGonagall instead...

There would have been some things he would have enjoyed, Harry had to admit. However, Dumbledore was right. He and his friends had not faced danger for points. They did what they did despite the threat of being expelled. Draco Malfoy already looked dissatisfied with how the feast had shifted from celebrating Slytherin winning the House Cup to congratulating Harry and his friends for winning their award. He did not need another reason to justify his prejudices. The same went for Snape. The Slytherins could keep their cup – at least for another year – Harry amended. The Quidditch Cup would have to do until the following year.

Classes were barely out the next day, when Harry, Ron and Hermione found themselves in the trophy room. They were not the only ones, either. They had to wait to take a close look at their award, while a few older students were doing the same. Some more congratulations and awkward questions later, they were staring at the award with their names on it. There was not much to see, but none of them were in any hurry to move away.

Remembering something all of a sudden, Harry looked over to where the quidditch trophies were displayed.

"Hermione, did you ever look up Sirius Black, by any chance?" he asked.

Hermione hesitated just a fraction of a second too long before she said, "Ah, no. No, I couldn't find anything about him." And then, as Harry turned to look at her, she flushed, prompting him to raise his eyebrows.

"Harry, I don't think you want to know," she said quietly.

"Come on, Hermione. Now I'm curious. How bad can it be?"

"Yeah. You can't just say something like that and not explain," added Ron. "Remember what I said? I think he was working for you-know-who. So what could be worse?"

"He – he was a spy," Hermione began hesitantly. "It wasn't easy to learn about him – nothing in any of my books. I wouldn't have found him at all, but Madam Pince let me look through some of the more advanced books before the exams. And there I read – Oh, Harry, he was the one who betrayed your parents' hiding place to you-know-who. And then, he killed a bunch of people after you defeated you-know-who and they found out he was a spy... Harry? Are you all right?" she asked, noticing that Harry had turned away.

"What a git," said Ron. "Didn't Filch say he was friends with your dad?"

Harry nodded without looking at them. "He must've been, I guess. How else would he have known where..." He broke off.

"I was wondering if I would find you here, Mr. Potter."

The three friends turned around. McGonagall was walking towards them from the entrance.

"I just... I wanted to tell you – all of you – how much I regret that I made it impossible for you to come to me for help-"

The adolescents began to deny that.

"No, no. It's true, I'm afraid. But I'm glad you didn't let that stop you from trying once again-"

"We already knew Snape suspected him, that's why..." Harry said as a sort of apology for asking the head of their rivalling house for help.

This was followed by a slightly awkward pause. McGonagall cleared her throat. "Well, it is what it is. I just wanted to let you know that, should there be a next time-"

Her students were quick to assure her that they would ask her for help if they needed it.

McGonagall, having done what she came for, looked around, ready to leave and finally noticed where exactly they stood. "This is not where your award is kept. Couldn't you find it? It's over there-" she began to point in the direction of their award.

"Oh, no, we already found it," Hermione said.

"We just-" began Harry, unsure what explanation to give.

"Oh, of course," McGonagall said in a choked voice. Her eyes were glued to the names on the Quidditch Cup in front of her. "Oh, that was such a wonderful year. Your father did an outstanding job as captain. Everyone on the team adored him. It was such a celebration – secret though it was meant to be – but I didn't have the heart to interrupt them-"

"Yeah, we were so surprised when we found out about Black," Ron blurted out thoughtlessly. "That a Gryffindor – and a quidditch player – could do such a thing..." He shook his head.

"There is no keeping secrets from you, is there?" McGonagall said fondly. "Oh, but I wish you hadn't felt the need to know all that much about your Godfather, Mr. Potter. Not that it's not perfectly natural that you'd be curious about him, but-"

"My Godfather?" Harry's voice sounded off to his own ears.

"Yes – Oh, didn't you know? But I thought-"

"We knew what he did – what he was sent to Azkaban for – and that he was friends with Harry's dad-" said Hermione.

"The best of friends. Always. Ever since first year. That Sirius Black of all people... I'm sorry to say we were all wrong about him. Mr. Potter, please don't let this get to you. He shouldn't be allowed to get to you in any way, and I wish I hadn't told you any more about him-"

"Don't worry, Professor. I won't. He's not worth a second thought." Harry smiled bravely, reassuringly, and McGonagall bought it. She took her leave of them and left.

His friends were not as easily deceived, of course. They hung around him and tried to distract him. But it was no use. Sirius Black would not leave his thoughts. In a move similar to one that had proved helpful several months back, he turned to his friends for help that evening, after dinner, when they were relaxing in their common room.

"Do you know how to send a letter to Azkaban?" he asked them hesitantly.

And similarly to the previous time, a short and not very successful discussion later, they noticed Neville sitting not too far away from them, working on what looked like a letter. This time, he had not been eavesdropping and they actually had to ask, but as before, he had a helpful answer.

"Azkaban? Whatever for? Well, I guess you could ask Susan – Susan Bones. Her aunt works in law enforcement." He shrugged his shoulders.

Harry thanked him, but did not explain, even though he could tell Neville was more than a little curious.

The rest was easy. They talked to Susan the next morning during breakfast. She was very surprised at the request, but promised she would write to her aunt. Madam Bones then wrote to Harry directly a day later. She tried to discourage him from going through with it. She told him about the madness of long-time inmates, about the seriousness of crimes most of them were convicted for, and in general tried to get him to see that it was no place for children. But she wrote that she would forward the letter if he insisted on sending it.

Harry filled several feet of parchment in a few minutes. His childhood dream of a relative who would come to rescue him, Dudley's recent visit at the end of the school year and his upcoming return to his aunt and uncle's house, together with his recent encounter with one of Voldemort's minions, had not left him in the mood to try to be objective where Sirius Black was concerned. He let his rage take control.

Without looking it over – he did not think he could have read through everything he had written – he put the letter in an envelope and sealed it. Then he put it in a second envelope with a thank-you letter to Madam Bones. The next morning, he gave the thick envelope to Hedwig, thanked both Susan and Neville once again, and then tried to get all of it – the very existence of a person called Sirius Black – out of his mind.

Harry had almost forgotten that the exam results were still to come, but come they did. To their great surprise, both he and Ron passed with good marks; Hermione, of course, had the best marks of the first years. Even Neville scraped through, his good Herbology mark making up for his abysmal Potions one. They had hoped that Goyle, who was almost as stupid as he was mean, might be thrown out, but he had passed, too. It was a shame, but as Ron said, you could not have everything in life.

And suddenly, it was time to begin packing their trunks. Students were buzzing with excitement about the summer holidays, about going home to their families – well, almost all of them.

The day before their trip, however, it was another topic altogether that began to take over everyone's interest. The professors and those older students who received the Daily Prophet were the first to learn about it, but the news soon began to spread.

The convicted murderer and you-know-who's master spy, Sirius Black, had died, the Pophet reported. This in itself would not have been much news, as it was not uncommon for Azkaban inmates to have shortened lifespans. However, rumours were circulating that Black had gone into sudden decline after receiving a letter – the first one in all his years of incarceration. Most curiously, the identity of the sender was not only unknown, there were not even any believable rumours around – nor about the content of the letter...

Harry and his friends did not have to wait for Hogwarts' rumour mill to reach them. They learned about it from the letter Madam Bones sent to Harry. It was very kind, as it informed him of Sirius Black's sudden death and asked him not to get upset about the news. Instead, she suggested that there must have been some buried goodness in the man that Harry's letter had managed to reach – enough to once again let him feel guilt...

There was not much time for Harry to get upset, at any rate. The next morning, Hagrid was taking them down to the fleet of boats that sailed across the lake and towards the Hogwarts Express. Harry thought he noticed McGonagall shooting him curious looks when she saw them off from the Great Hall, but she did not say anything. Soon enough – sooner than Harry preferred – they were at King's Cross Station, where Uncle Vernon was waiting for him impatiently, Aunt Petunia and Dudley not far away. A short goodbye later, he was in the car, being driven away from the world of magic.

The car drive was more than a little bizarre. Dudley was sitting right next to him and he had the urge to just start chatting with him. He suspected, Dudley felt the same, but after a furtive glance while getting settled in their seats, they had not even looked at each other. His aunt and uncle, oblivious to anything being out of the ordinary, had gone back to behaving around them exactly as Harry remembered.

The first challenge was when they got home and Uncle Vernon insisted on padlocking Hedwig's cage and locking all of Harry's possessions in the cupboard under the stairs. The padlock was on Hedwig's cage before Harry could even argue and he was not even given the key.

Dudley, who had put as much distance between himself and his parents as the room allowed, watched without interfering, feeling uncomfortable in a way he never had before. When it looked like Harry had lost, he slowly walked over.

"But..." he began quietly.

"What is it, popkin?" Aunt Petunia immediately turned towards him. "Never fear. All those nasty things will be out of our sight in a moment."

"But what if they send someone again, like last year? Maybe if he writes them-"

"Oh, you poor dear. Don't worry sweetums-"

"Look, what you've done, boy!" Uncle Vernon turned on Harry. "Those – people – will do nothing of the sort, do you hear me? They'll have to learn that we live like civilised people here..."

He continued in that fashion for a while. Dudley did not try to argue any further.

That night, Harry and his cousin had a similar idea at the same time. Not long after they had gone upstairs, supposedly to sleep, they left their rooms, to go visit the other. The noise from the TV downstairs and Aunt Petunia's shrill commentary could be heard every now and then. Harry almost jumped when he opened the door and saw Dudley only a step away.

"Come in," he said in a hushed voice, grateful for his cousin's unexpected foresight.

Harry had considered the matter and had come to the conclusion that it would be better for everyone involved – himself included – if Dudley's parents never found out that their son had changed his opinion of Harry – and the rest of the magical world. Before he could say any of that, though, Dudley closed the door and leaned against it, before pulling out a set of keys from his pocket and presenting them to Harry excitedly.

"Er, what..."

"It's both for your owl and the cupboard under the stairs," Dudley said in a hushed voice.

"What? No, no. I'll be in so much trouble – Dudders, we really need to talk about this-"

"But they don't know – and don't call me that. They'll never know. They didn't even think to hide the keys from me. I was in the room when they decided where to keep them. I'm sorry I couldn't help you more. I... I know my parents are – not right about you. It's just..."

"That's just it, Dudley, I don't think you should try to – to help me like that – If you try to go against your parents – Who knows, they might think I had something to do with your change-"

"Er, you sort of did."

They both laughed at that – quietly.

"I did, yes. And didn't even need to use magic – much."

"So here's what I thought." Dudley went back to his argument. "I _can_ help you after all. Maybe even better than if I try to argue with my parents. I can get you stuff in secret – like these keys-"

"Dudley-" Harry tried to argue again, but the creaking of stairs interrupted them.

"Here, keep these." Dudley pressed the keys into Harry's hand and then shuffled out of his room as quickly and silently as he could manage.

Harry stood indecisively in his room, staring at the keys, while his aunt and uncle readied for bed, said goodnight to Dudley, and began complaining about his owl – who had not even begun making any noise to speak of. Tired as she had been from the journey, she had fallen asleep and was only then beginning to wake up. There really was only one sane choice. As soon as everyone else in the house had fallen asleep, he quietly unlocked Hedwig's cage and opened the window.

"Be sure to be back before they wake up," he warned her sternly. She hooted softly in agreement – he hoped – and took off.

A good night's sleep and waking up to see Hedwig back in her cage, content and quiet, and Harry thought his summer holidays might turn out all right after all. He and Dudley both left the house, one shortly after the other – Dudley telling his parents that he wanted to see if his friends were around, Harry just confirming that he would keep his head down and be back before dark – and met up on Magnolia Crescent.

As soon as his cousin had caught up with him, Harry was bombarded with questions and excited commentary about the day Dudley had spent at Hogwarts. Harry did his best to keep up, enjoying the happy memories, especially now that he knew he would be stuck in the Dursley household for the next couple of months.

Not that all his memories of Hogwarts were happy. The end of term had had more than its share of darkness. Harry still had nightmares of his encounter with Voldemort. And if that had not been enough, he had been told his ill-advised letter to his parents' traitorous former friend had led to that man's suicide. Harry could not help but imagine the wretched creature he must have been, all sunken eyes, bright with the madness he had been told haunted all Azkaban inmates...

Harry suddenly came to a stop. He had been staring absent-mindedly into the hedge ahead while Dudley continued to talk – and the hedge was staring back. A pair of shadowed eyes, brightened momentarily by the sunbeams, had appeared among the leaves.

The boys had walked towards a playground Dudley used to enjoy going to when they were younger. They were not the only ones with that idea, however. Piers Polkiss, and some other boys Dudley used to be friends with before going to Smeltings, were also there. It seemed to Harry, all they were doing was loiter around and keep younger children from playing.

"I was wondering when you would show – if you would show," said Piers, when he saw who had arrived.

"I didn't think you'd bring the weirdo with you," another of the boys – Malcolm – added.

"Yeah, Dudley, what's with that? Piers has been telling us some weird things about you. And now that freak. Didn't your folks send him to prison, or something?"

"Er, maybe we should... later... I could, er, go somewhere else for a bit..." Harry turned to go.

"Not so fast," said Piers. "That – that right there's exactly what I was talking about. Dud's suddenly decided to befriend all the losers. But really, that freaky cousin of yours-"

"He's not a freak!" replied Dudley. "And I didn't befriend anyone, I just told you I didn't want to bully anyone any more."

That was an ill-advised thing to have said. The boys began to slowly close in on the cousins.

"So you think we're bullies, now. You don't like how we used to chase your cousin around, is that it? How about we chase you both, then?"

They began to advance, but did not come very far. A large, dark shape appeared out of nowhere between the cousins and Dudley's old friends. It was only after the boys had run away in fright that Harry realised the huge, shaggy animal was a dog. It turned to face the frightened cousins, barking excitedly. But as soon as it noticed how they were inching backwards, it sat down, put its paws over its muzzle, and began to snuffle.


End file.
